Mrs. Boniface was a Devonshire woman, and, notwithstanding her five-and-twenty years of London life, she still preserved something of her western accent and intonation; she had also the gentle manner and the quiet consideration and courtesy which seem innate in most west-country people. As to education, she had received the best that was to be had for tradesmen’s daughters in the days of her youth, but she was well aware that it did not come up to modern requirements, and had taken good care that Cecil should be brought up very differently. There was something very attractive in her homely simplicity; and though she could not help regretting that Cecil, owing to her position, was cut off from much that other girls enjoyed, nothing would have induced her to try to push her way in the world,—she was too true a lady for that, and, moreover, beneath all her gentleness had too much dignity and independence of character. So it had come to pass that they lived a very quiet life, with few intimate friends and not too many acquaintances; but perhaps they were none the less happy for that. Certainly there was about the home a sense of peace and rest not too often to be met with in this bustling nineteenth century. The opportunity for suggesting Cecil’s plan to Mr. Boniface came soon after they reached home. In that house things were wont to be quickly settled; they were not great at discussions, and perhaps this accounted in a great measure for the peace of the domestic atmosphere. Certainly there is nothing so productive of family quarrels as the habit of perpetually talking over the various arrangements, household or personal, and many a good digestion must have been ruined, and many a temper soured by the baneful habit of arguing the _pros_ and _cons_ of some vexed question during breakfast or dinner. Cecil was in the drawing-room, playing one of Chopin’s Ballads, when her father came into the room. He stood by the fire till she had finished, watching her thoughtfully. He was an elderly man, tall and spare, with a small, shapely head, white hair and trim white beard. His gray eyes were honest and kindly, like his son’s, and the face was a good as well as a refined face. He was one of the deacons of a Congregational chapel, and came of an old Nonconformist family, which for many generations had pleaded and suffered for religious liberty. Robert Boniface was true to his principles, and when his children grew up, and, becoming old enough to go thoroughly into the question, declared their wish to join the Church of England, he made not the slightest objection. What was more, he would not even allow them to see that it was a grief to him. “It is not to be supposed that every one should see from one point of view,” he had said to his wife. “We are all of us looking to the same sun, and that is the great thing.”