e sees Mr. Mainwaring every day. What can we do?
She is so proud, I'm afraid of her."

"My dear, I was not thinking of Miss Clavering, though I did not
interrupt you, for it is very true that she is much to be pitied."

"And I am sure it was for her sake alone that you agreed to Susan's
request, and got Blackman to do duty for you at the vicarage, while we
all came up here, in hopes London town would divert her. We left all at
sixes and sevens; and I should not at all wonder if John made away with
the apples."

"But, I say," resumed the parson, without heeding that mournful
foreboding,--"I say, I was then only thinking of Susan. You see how pale
and sad she is grown."

"Why, she is so very soft-hearted, and she must feel for her sister."

"But her sister, though she thinks much, and keeps aloof from us, is not
sad herself, only reserved. On the contrary. I believe she has now got
over even poor Sir Miles's death."

"And the loss of the great property!"

"Fie, Mary!" said Mr. Fielden, almost austerely.

Mary looked down, rebuked, for she was not one of the high-spirited
wives who despise their husbands for goodness.

"I beg pardon, my dear," she said meekly; "it was very wrong in me; but
I cannot--do what I will--I cannot like that Miss Clavering."

"The more need to judge her with charity. And if what I fear is the
case, I'm sure we can't feel too much compassion for the poor blinded
young lady."

"Bless my heart, Mr. Fielden, what is it you mean?"

The parson looked round, to be sure the door was quite closed, and
replied, in a whisper: "I mean, that I fear William Mainwaring loves,
not Lucretia, but Susan."

The scissors fell from the hand of Mrs. Fielden; and though one point
stuck in the ground, and the other point threatened war upon flounces
and toes, strange to say, she did not even stoop to remove the
chevaux-de-frise.

"Why, then, he's a most false-hearted young man!"

"To blame, certainly," said Fielden; "I don't say to the
contrary,--though I like the young man, and am sure that he's more timid
than false. I may now tell you--for I want your advice, Mary--what I
kept secret before. When Mainwaring visited us, many months ago, at
Southampton, he confessed to me that he felt warmly for Susan, and asked
if I thought Sir Miles would consent. I knew too well how proud the
poor old gentleman was, to give him any such hopes. So he left, very
honourably. You remember, after he went, that Susan's sp