position of life should ever marry at an
earlier age. He is not rich."

"Would that matter?"

"No; I think not. But of that you must judge. Of course with your
fortune you would have a right to expect a richer match. But though he
has not money, he has much that money gives. He lives in a large house
with noble surroundings. The question is whether you can like him?"

"I don't know, papa." Every word she spoke she uttered hesitatingly.
When she had asked whether "that would matter," she had hardly known
what she was saying. The thing was so important to her, and yet so
entirely mysterious and as yet unconsidered, that she could not collect
her thoughts sufficiently for proper answers to her father's sensible
but not too delicate inquiries. The only ideas that had really struck
her were that he was grand and handsome, but very old.

"If you can love him I think you would be happy," said the Dean. "Of
course you must look at it all round. He will probably live to be the
Marquis of Brotherton. From all that I hear I do not think that his
brother is likely to marry. In that case you would be the Marchioness
of Brotherton, and the property, though not great, would then be
handsome. In the meanwhile you would be Lady George Germain, and would
live at Manor Cross. I should stipulate on your behalf that you should
have a house of your own in town, for, at any rate, a portion of the
year. Manor Cross is a fine place, but you would find it dull if you
were to remain there always. A married woman too should always have
some home of her own."

"You want me to do it, papa?"

"Certainly not. I want you to please yourself. If I find that you
please yourself by accepting this man, I myself shall be better pleased
than if you please yourself by rejecting him; but you shall never know
that by my manner. I shall not put you on bread and water, and lock you
up in the garret either if you accept him, or if you reject him." The
Dean smiled as he said this, as all the world at Brotherton knew that
he had never in his life even scolded his daughter.

"And you, papa?"

"I shall come and see you, and you will come and see me. I shall get on
well enough. I have always known that you would leave me soon. I am
prepared for that." There was something in this which grated on her
feelings. She had, perhaps, taught herself to believe that she was
indispensable to her father's happiness. Then after a pause he
continued: "Of course you must be