which was called his dressing-room,
but in which he kept no appurtenances for dressing, but in lieu of
them a large collection of old spuds and sticks and horse's-bits.
There was a broken spade here, and a hoe or two; and a small table
in the corner was covered with the debris of tradesmen's bills
from Penrith, and dirty scraps which he was wont to call his farm
accounts.--"Grandpapa," said Alice, rushing away at once into the
middle of her subject, "you told me the other day that you thought
I ought to be--married."

"Did I, my dear? Well, yes; so I did. And so you ought;--I mean to
that Mr Grey."

"That is impossible, sir."

"Then what's the use of your coming and talking to me about it?"

This made Alice's task not very easy; but, nevertheless, she
persevered. "I am come, grandpapa, to tell you of another
engagement."

"Another!" said he. And by the tone of his voice he accused his
granddaughter of having a larger number of favoured suitors than
ought to fall to the lot of any young lady. It was very hard upon
her, but still she went on.

"You know," said she, "that some years ago I was to have been married
to my cousin George;"--and then she paused.

"Well," said the old man.

"And I remember you told me then that you were much pleased."

"So I was. George was doing well then; or,--which is more
likely,--had made us believe that he was doing well. Have you made it
up with him again?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that's the meaning of your jilting Mr Grey, is it?"

Poor Alice! It is hard to explain how heavy a blow fell upon her
from the open utterance of that word! Of all words in the language
it was the one which she now most dreaded. She had called herself
a jilt, with that inaudible voice which one uses in making
self-accusations;--but hitherto no lips had pronounced the odious
word to her ears. Poor Alice! She was a jilt; and perhaps it may have
been well that the old man should tell her so.

"Grandpapa!" she said; and there was that in the tone of her voice
which somewhat softened the Squire's heart.

"Well, my dear, I don't want to be ill-natured. So you are going at
last to marry George, are you? I hope he'll treat you well; that's
all. Does your father approve of it?"

"I have told you first, sir;--because I wish to obtain your consent
to seeing George again here as your grandson."

"Never," said the old man, snarling;--"never!"

"If he has been wrong, he will beg your pardon."

"If he has be