daughter,—if his friend Staveley were in very truth determined that such love must under no circumstances be sanctioned,—would they treat him as they were treating him? Would they under such circumstances make his prolonged stay in the house an imperative necessity? He could not help asking himself this question, and answering it with some gleam of hope. And then he acknowledged to himself that it was ungenerous in him to do so. His remaining there,—the liberty to remain there which had been conceded to him,—had arisen solely from the belief that a removal in his present state would be injudicious. He assured himself of this over and over again, so that no false hope might linger in his heart. And yet hope did linger there whether false or true. Why might he not aspire to the hand of Madeline Staveley,—he who had been assured that he need regard no woman as too high for his aspirations?
'Mrs. Baker,' he said that evening, as that excellent woman was taking away his tea-things, 'I have not heard Miss Staveley's voice these two days.'
'Well, no; no more you have,' said she. 'There's two ways, you know, Mr. Graham, of going to her part of the house. There's the door that opens at the end of the passage by her mamma's room. She's been that way, and that's the reason, I suppose. There aint no other, I'm sure.'
'One likes to hear one's friends if one can't see them; that's all.'
'To be sure one does. I remember as how when I had the measles—I was living with my lady's mother, as maid to the young ladies. There was four of 'em, and I dressed 'em all—God bless 'em. They've all got husbands now and grown families—only there aint one among 'em equal to our Miss Madeline, though there's some of 'em much richer. When my lady married him,—the judge, you know,—he was the poorest of the lot. They didn't think so much of him when he came a-courting in those days.'
'He was only a practising barrister then.'
'Oh yes; he knew well how to practise, for Miss Isabella—as she was then—very soon made up her mind about him. Laws, Mr. Graham, she used to tell me everything in them days. They didn't want her to have nothing to say to Mr. Staveley at first; but she made up her mind, and though she wasn't one of them as has many words, like Miss Furnival down there, there was no turning her.'
'Did she marry at last against their wish?'
'Oh dear, no; nothing of that sort. She wasn't one of them flighty ones neither. She just made up her own mind and bided. And now I don't know whether she hasn't done about the best of 'em all. Them Oliphants is full of money, they do say—full of money. That was Miss Louisa, who came next. But, Lord love you, Mr. Graham, he's so crammed with gout as he can't ever put a foot to the ground; and as cross;—as cross as cross. We goes
