from the room. At the door she encountered Mrs. Clarke; and the late conversation proved that the gentleman needed no eloquence but his own.
The next meeting between Emily and her aunt was awkward enough. Emily could not but feel how little respect had been shown to her uncle's memory. Of course, she saw through and despised Mr. Sillery's mercenary motives; but equally saw that remonstrance would be vain. Mrs. Arundel, like most people who have done a silly thing, was rather ashamed to confess it, and yet glad to have it come out—we judge of others by ourselves—and had screwed her courage up for taunts and reproaches; and when Emily indulged in neither, but only quietly and distantly alluded to the subject, she felt rather grateful to her than otherwise.
At the vicarage—for Dr. Clarke's parish lay close enough to be always disputing with its neighbour about boundaries and paupers—at the vicarage the disclosure was made. After dinner, the Doctor was in high good humour at what he called his penetration—joked Mr. Boyne Sillery—was, or at least did his best to be, witty about widows—and really did remember a prodigious number of jests, respect-
