SOMEHOW.
THE Ellices were sitting in conclave. As an affectionate, united, and talkative family, it was their custom to sit in conclave over any matter affecting the general or individual welfare.
"I do not," Mrs. Ellice would say, "I do not like reticence in families. Let there be a feeling of confidence, and let us talk things over together comfortably."
It was in accordance with this habit that there had been a rallying of the domestic forces and a gathering in the library of their country home, where father, mother, two sisters, and one brother now sat, as just stated, in conclave. The occasion was momentous, and the subject under discussion presented obstacles to the placid and comfortable progress usual at these domestic cabinet meetings. Manette, the younger daughter, had received, and, so far as she had power to do so, had accepted, an offer of marriage, and this deeply-interesting event was now under discussion. Manette, impelled by some innate instinct for dramatic situation, had placed herself in the middle of the room, while about her, as the figure in which the interest focussed, were grouped the others, in various phases of deprecatory protest. Mr. Ellice, holding an open letter, was speaking. He was a mild and benevolent little gentleman, with a fresh pink face and snow-white hair and beard reminding one oddly of cotton-wool.
"Of course you know, my dear child," he said, settling his gold-rimmed spectacles upon his nose and through them beaming blandly upon Manette, "that we are all thinking of your happiness. Whatever may be the end of this matter, it is for that we are solicitous. And so I feel it necessary to give it our most careful consideration."
"Well, if you want me to be happy, papa dear," said Manette, "you must let me marry Frank. And I may as well tell you my mind is made up about it, no matter what you may all think." And Manette's pretty mouth wore a certain look of resolve resulting from familiarity with her subject.
"You need not adopt a tone of defiance, my dear. I have not yet refused my consent," said her father.
"I don't see much use in our talking it over if Nettie's mind is made up; she won't pay any attention to what we say," said Reginald Ellice acutely. He was just eighteen, and his wisdom profound.
"Oh, my dear, you know we could not allow your sister to engage herself to any one till we had all talked it over comfortably," said Mrs. Ellice.
"This young man, Manette," continued Mr. Ellice, looking intently at the letter he held, as though to summon the writer to their midst, "is, as I understand it, a sort of an artist, eh?"
" I don't know why you say 'a sort of an artist,' papa. He is a real artist, and a very talented one; and, oh, papa, he is so handsome!"
"Ah? I am glad he is likely to be ornamental; I only hope to find him equally useful. How does he gain his living, Manette?"
"Why, papa, what a question! By selling his pictures, of course."
"Has he no other source of income? Does he do nothing else for his support?"
"Why, no; of course not. What sort of an artist would he be to be mixing up with other professions? What should you think of a doctor or a lawyer who worked at any other calling while waiting for practice?"
"My dear, I only asked; I did not know. And about how much do you think he has per annum upon which to support a wife?"
"Oh, I don't know, papa, I'm sure. I suppose that depends on how many pictures he sells."
"How much does he get for them, Nettie?" This searching remark pro-
