ry's desire to get him down for as long a period as was
possible, and nothing surely would so tend to bring him and to keep
him, as a knowledge that the heiress was already in the neighbourhood.
Then she returned, and shut herself up in her bedroom, and worked for
an hour or two at a paper which she was writing for the 'Breakfast
Table.' Nobody should ever accuse her justly of idleness. And
afterwards, as she walked by herself round and round the garden, she
revolved in her mind the scheme of a new book. Whatever might happen
she would persevere. If the Carburys were unfortunate their
misfortunes should come from no fault of hers. Henrietta passed the
whole day alone. She did not see her cousin from breakfast till he
appeared in the drawing-room before dinner. But she was thinking of
him during every minute of the day,--how good he was, how honest, how
thoroughly entitled to demand at any rate kindness at her hand! Her
mother had spoken of him as of one who might be regarded as all but
dead and buried, simply because of his love for her. Could it be true
that his constancy was such that he would never marry unless she would
take his hand? She came to think of him with more tenderness than she
had ever felt before, but, yet, she would not tell herself she loved
him. It might, perhaps, be her duty to give herself to him without
loving him,--because he was so good; but she was sure that she did not
love him.

In the evening the bishop came, and his wife, Mrs Yeld, and the
Hepworths of Eardly, and Father John Barham, the Beccles priest. The
party consisted of eight, which is, perhaps, the best number for a
mixed gathering of men and women at a dinner-table,--especially if there
be no mistress whose prerogative and duty it is to sit opposite to the
master. In this case Mr Hepworth faced the giver of the feast, the
bishop and the priest were opposite to each other, and the ladies
graced the four corners. Roger, though he spoke of such things to no
one, turned them over much in his mind, believing it to be the duty of
a host to administer in all things to the comfort of his guests. In
the drawing-room he had been especially courteous to the young priest,
introducing him first to the bishop and his wife, and then to his
cousins. Henrietta watched him through the whole evening, and told
herself that he was a very mirror of courtesy in his own house. She
had seen it all before, no doubt; but she had never watched him as she
now