e an ideal Squire of Rawdon."

"Why don't you marry him."

"He never asked me."

"What was the matter with the men?"

"He was already engaged to a very lovely young lady."

"I am glad she is a lady."

"She is also very clever. She has been to college and taken high honors,
a thing I have not done."

"You might have done and overdone that caper; you were too sensible to
try it. Well, I'm glad that part of the family is looking up. They had
the right stuff in them, and it is a good thing for families to dwell
together in unity. We have King David's word for that. My observation
leads me to think it is far better for families to dwell apart, in
unity. They seldom get along comfortably together."

Then Ethel related many pleasant, piquant scenes between the two
families at Monk-Rawdon, and especially that one in which the room of
the first Tyrrel had been opened and his likeness restored to its
place in the family gallery. It touched the old lady to tears, and she
murmured, "Poor lad! Poor lad! I wonder if he knows! I wonder if he
knows!"

The crucial point of Ethel's revelations had not yet been revealed,
but Madam was now in a gentle mood, and Ethel took the opportunity to
introduce her to Tyrrel Rawdon. She was expecting and waiting for this
topic, but stubbornly refused to give Ethel any help toward bringing
it forward. At last, the girl felt a little anger at her pretended
indifference, and said, "I suppose Fred Mostyn told you about Mr. Tyrrel
Rawdon, of California?"

"Tyrrel Rawdon, of California! Pray, who may he be?"

"The son of Colonel Rawdon, of the United States Army."

"Oh, to be sure! Well, what of him?"

"I am going to marry him."

"I shall see about that."

"We were coming here together to see you, but before we left the steamer
he got a telegram urging him to go at once to his father, who is very
ill."

"I have not asked him to come and see me. Perhaps he will wait till I do
so."

"If you are not going to love Tyrrel, you need not love me. I won't have
you for a grandmother any longer."

"I did without you sixty years. I shall not live another twelve months,
and I think I can manage to do without you for a granddaughter any
longer."

"You cannot do without me. You would break your heart, and I should
break mine." Whereupon Ethel began to cry with a passion that quite
gratified the old lady. She watched her a few moments, and then said
gently:

"There now, that will do. When he