said the rector, as he was winding up his watch, preparatory
to entering the connubial couch,--"my dear, I don't think Mr. Maltravers
is a marrying man."

"I was just going to make the same remark," said Mrs. Merton, drawing
the clothes over her. "Lord Doltimore is a very fine young man, his
estates unencumbered. I like him vastly, my love. He is evidently
smitten with Caroline: so Lord Vargrave and Mrs. Hare said."

"Sensible, shrewd woman, Mrs. Hare. By the by, we'll send her a
pineapple. Caroline was made to be a woman of rank!"

"Quite; so much self-possession!"

"And if Mr. Maltravers would sell or let Burleigh--"

"It would be so pleasant!"

"Had you not better give Caroline a hint?"

"My love, she is so sensible, let her go her own way."

"You are right, my dear Betsy; I shall always say that no one has more
common-sense than you; you have brought up your children admirably!"

"Dear Charles!"

"It is coldish to-night, love," said the rector; and he put out the
candle.

From that time, it was not the fault of Mr. and Mrs. Merton if Lord
Doltimore did not find their house the pleasantest in the county.

One evening the rectory party were assembled together in the cheerful
drawing-room. Cleveland, Mr. Merton, Sir John, and Lord Vargrave,
reluctantly compelled to make up the fourth, were at the whist-table;
Evelyn, Caroline, and Lord Doltimore were seated round the fire, and
Mrs. Merton was working a footstool. The fire burned clear, the curtains
were down, the children in bed: it was a family picture of elegant
comfort.

Mr. Maltravers was announced.

"I am glad you are come at last," said Caroline, holding out her fair
hand. "Mr. Cleveland could not answer for you. We are all disputing as
to which mode of life is the happiest."

"And your opinion?" asked Maltravers, seating himself in the vacant
chair,--it chanced to be next to Evelyn's.

"My opinion is decidedly in favour of London. A metropolitan life,
with its perpetual and graceful excitements,--the best music, the best
companions, the best things in short. Provincial life is so dull, its
pleasures so tiresome; to talk over the last year's news, and wear out
one's last year's dresses, cultivate a conservatory, and play Pope Joan
with a young party,--dreadful!"

"I agree with Miss Merton," said Lord Doltimore, solemnly; "not but
what I like the country for three or four months in the year, with good
shooting and hunting, and a large house p