hy you can stay away."

As this was said in the manner of a request, George did again sit
down. "It will be foolish to make a fuss about it," said he to
himself; "and what he says is true. I need not come again, and I will
not." So he sat down and again sipped his wine.

"So you saw Caroline at Jerusalem?" said the old man, after a pause
of about twenty minutes.

"Yes, I met her with Miss Baker. But who told you?"

"Who told me? Why, Miss Baker, of course. They were both here for a
week after their return."

"Here in this house?"

"Why shouldn't they be here in this house? Miss Baker is usually here
three or four times every year."

"Is she?" said George, quite startled by the information. Why on
earth had Miss Baker not told him of this?

"And what did you think of Caroline?" asked Mr. Bertram.

"Think of her?" said George.

"Perhaps you did not think anything about her at all. If so, I shall
be delighted to punish her vanity by telling her so. She had thought
a great deal about you; or, at any rate, she talked as though she
had."

This surprised George a great deal, and almost made him forgive his
uncle the inquiry he had received. "Oh, yes, I did think of her,"
said he. "I thought of her a little at least."

"Oh, a little!"

"Well, I mean as much as one does generally think of people one
meets--perhaps rather more than of others. She is very handsome and
clever, and what I saw of her I liked."

"She is a favourite of mine--very much so. Only that you are too
young, and have not as yet a shilling to depend on, she might have
done for a wife for you."

And so saying, he drew the candles to him, took up his newspaper, and
was very soon fast asleep.

George said nothing further that night to his uncle about Caroline,
but he sat longing that the old man might again broach the subject.
He was almost angry with himself for not having told his uncle
the whole truth; but then he reflected that Caroline had not yet
acknowledged that she felt anything like affection for him; and he
said to himself, over and over again, that he was sure she would not
marry him without loving him for all the rich uncles in Christendom;
and yet it was a singular coincidence that he and his uncle should
have thought of the same marriage.

The next morning he was again more surprised. On coming down to the
breakfast-parlour, he found his uncle there before him, walking up
and down the room with his hands behind his back. As s