t society. I think you should know that as well as I. I hope
you do not put these questions from a desire to argue with me."

"I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no harm in arguing
when one is not convinced."

"Humph! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I am sure that you will
not take any step calculated to inflict pain on me--at least an act of
selfishness on your part would be a new and shocking experience for me.

"That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You give me no good
reason for breaking my word, and making myself unhappy; and yet you
accuse me of selfishness in not being ready to do both."

"I think I have already given you my assurance, weighted as it is by my
age, my experience, my regard for your welfare, and, I hope, my
authority as a parent, that both your honor and happiness will be
secured by your obeying me, and forfeited by following your own
headstrong inclinations."

Marian, almost crushed by this, hesitated a moment, twisting her fingers
and looking pitiably at him. Then she thought of Conolly; rallied; and
said: "I can only say that I am sorry to disagree with you; but I am not
convinced."

"Do you mean that you refuse to obey me?"

"I cannot obey you in this matter, papa. I--"

"That is enough," said Mr. Lind, gravely, beginning, to busy himself
with the writing materials. Marian for a moment seemed about to protest
against this dismissal. Then she checked herself and went out of the
room, closing the door quite quietly behind her, thereby unconsciously
terrifying her father, who had calculated on a slam.

"Well," said Elinor, when her cousin rejoined her in the drawing-room:
"have you been selfish and disobedient? Have you lacerated a father's
heart?"

"He is thoroughly unfair," said Marian. "However, it all comes to this:
he is annoyed at my wanting to marry Ned: and I believe there will be no
more peace for me until I am in a house of my own. What shall we do in
the meantime? Where shall we go? I cannot stay here."

"Why not? Uncle Reginald will sulk; sit at dinner without speaking to
us; and keep out of our way as much as he can. But you can talk to me:
we neednt mind him. It is he who will be out in the cold, biting his
nose to vex his face. Such a state of things is new to you; but I have
survived weeks of it without a single sympathizer, and been none the
worse, except, perhaps, in temper. He will pretend to be inexorable at
first: then he will come