ng to his arm. "You
always were fond of your poor aunt Dora, Frank; when you were quite a
little trot you used always to like me best; and in the holiday times,
when you came down from Harrow, I used always to hear all your
troubles. If you would only have confidence in me now!"

"But what if I have no troubles to confide?" said Mr Wentworth; "a man
and a boy are very different things. Come, aunt Dora, I'll see you safe
to your inn. What should I have to grumble about? I have plenty to do,
and it is Easter; and few men can have everything their own way."

"You won't acknowledge that you're vexed," said aunt Dora, almost crying
under her veil, "but I can see it all the same. You always were such a
true Wentworth; but if you only would give in and say that you are
disappointed and angry with us all, I could bear it better, Frank. I
would not feel then that you thought it my fault! And oh, Frank, dear,
you don't consider how disappointed your poor dear aunt Leonora was!
It's just as hard upon us," she continued, pressing his arm in her
eagerness, "as it is upon you. We had all so set our hearts on having
you at Skelmersdale. Don't you think, if you were giving your mind to
it, you might see things in a different light?" with another pressure of
his arm. "Oh, Frank, what does it matter, after all, if the heart is
right, whether you read the service in your natural voice, or give that
little quaver at the end? I am sure, for my part--"

"My dear aunt," said Mr Wentworth, naturally incensed by this manner of
description, "I must be allowed to say that my convictions are fixed,
and not likely to be altered. I am a priest, and you are--a woman." He
stopped short, with perhaps a little bitterness. It was very true she
was a woman, unqualified to teach, but yet she and her sisters were
absolute in Skelmersdale. He made a little gulp of his momentary
irritation, and walked on in silence, with Miss Dora's kind wistful hand
clinging to his arm.

"But, dear Frank among us Protestants, you know, there is no sacerdotal
caste," said Miss Dora, opportunely recollecting some scrap of an Exeter
Hall speech. "We are all kings and priests to God. Oh, Frank, it is
Gerald's example that has led you away. I am sure, before you went to
Oxford you were never at all a ritualist--even Leonora thought you such
a pious boy; and I am sure your good sense must teach you--" faltered
aunt Dora, trying her sister's grand tone.

"Hush, hush; I can't h