n't _very_ angry, are you?"

"I think you're both extremely foolish," said Mrs. Futvoye, as she
extricated herself from Sylvia's arms and turned to face Horace. "From
all I hear, Mr. Ventimore, you're not in a position to marry at
present."

"Unfortunately, no" said Horace; "I'm making nothing as yet. But my
chance must come some day. I don't ask you to give me Sylvia till then."

"And you know you like Horace, mother!" pleaded Sylvia. "And I'm ready
to wait for him, any time. Nothing will induce me to give him up, and I
shall never, never care for anybody else. So you see you may just as
well give us your consent!"

"I'm afraid I've been to blame," said Mrs. Futvoye. "I ought to have
foreseen this at St. Luc. Sylvia is our only child, Mr. Ventimore, and I
would far rather see her happily married than making what is called a
'grand match.' Still, this really does seem _rather_ hopeless. I am
quite sure her father would never approve of it. Indeed, it must not be
mentioned to him--he would only be irritated."

"So long as you are not against us," said Horace, "you won't forbid me
to see her?"

"I believe I ought to," said Mrs. Futvoye; "but I don't object to your
coming here occasionally, as an ordinary visitor. Only understand
this--until you can prove to my husband's satisfaction that you are able
to support Sylvia in the manner she has been accustomed to, there must
be no formal engagement. I think I am entitled to ask _that_ of you."

She was so clearly within her rights, and so much more indulgent than
Horace had expected--for he had always considered her an unsentimental
and rather worldly woman--that he accepted her conditions almost
gratefully. After all, it was enough for him that Sylvia returned his
love, and that he should be allowed to see her from time to time.

"It's rather a pity," said Sylvia, meditatively, a little later, when
her mother had gone back to her letter-writing, and she and Horace were
discussing the future; "it's rather a pity that you didn't manage to get
_something_ at that sale. It might have helped you with papa."

"Well, I did get something on my own account," he said, "though I don't
know whether it is likely to do me any good with your father." And he
told her how he had come to acquire the brass bottle.

"And you actually gave a guinea for it?" said Sylvia, "when you could
probably get exactly the same thing, only better, at Liberty's for about
seven-and-sixpence! Nothing