be, more than ever, rigidly economical.

The full, free, natural intercourse between her lover and herself, could
not fail to be checked by Mr. Buxton's aversion to the engagement. Frank
came over for some time in the early autumn. He had left Cambridge, and
intended to enter himself at the Temple as soon as the vacation was ended.
He had not been very long at home before Maggie was made aware, partly
through Erminia, who had no notion of discreet silence on any point, and
partly by her own observation, of the increasing estrangement between
father and son. Mr. Buxton was reserved with Frank for the first time in
his life; and Frank was depressed and annoyed at his father's obstinate
repetition of the same sentence, in answer to all his arguments in favor of
his engagement--arguments which were overwhelming to himself and which it
required an effort of patience on his part to go over and recapitulate, so
obvious was the conclusion; and then to have the same answer forever, the
same words even:

"Frank! it's no use talking. I don't approve of the engagement; and never
shall."

He would snatch up his hat, and hurry off to Maggie to be soothed. His
father knew where he was gone without being told; and was jealous of her
influence over the son who had long been his first and paramount object in
life.

He needed not have been jealous. However angry and indignant Frank was when
he went up to the moorland cottage, Maggie almost persuaded him, before
half an hour had elapsed, that his father was but unreasonable from his
extreme affection. Still she saw that such frequent differences would
weaken the bond between father and son; and, accordingly, she urged Frank
to accept an invitation into Scotland.

"You told me," said she, "that Mr. Buxton will have it, it is but a boy's
attachment; and that when you have seen other people, you will change your
mind; now do try how far you can stand the effects of absence." She said it
playfully, but he was in a humor to be vexed.

"What nonsense, Maggie! You don't care for all this delay yourself; and you
take up my father's bad reasons as if you believed them."

"I don't believe them; but still they may be true."

"How should you like it, Maggie, if I urged you to go about and see
something of society, and try if you could not find some one you liked
better? It is more probable in your case than in mine; for you have never
been from home, and I have been half over Europe."

"You