"No, but the less evil of the two. I don't believe there is a creature living whose society I could endure, without intermission, for a month, a week, or even two days. No. Emphatically no." She must then, though a member of a family, live a good deal alone--a fact I had already begun to suspect. "Therefore, as I try to make Lisa feel--being the elder, I have a right to preach, you know--what an awful thing marriage must be, even viewed as mere companionship. Putting aside love, honour, obedience, and all that sort of thing, to undertake the burthen of any one person's constant presence and conversation for the term of one's natural life! the idea is frightful!" "Very, if you do put aside love, honour, and all that sort of thing.'" She looked up, as if she thought I was laughing at her. "Am I talking very foolishly? I am afraid I do so sometimes." "Not at all," I said, "it was pleasant to hear her talk." Which unlucky remark of mine had the effect of wholly silencing her. But, silent, it was something to watch her moving about the drawing-room, or sitting still over her work. I like to see a woman sewing; it gives her an air of peaceful homelikeness, the nearest approach to which, in us men, who are either always sullenly busy or lazily idle, is the ungainly lounge with our feet on the fender. Mr. Johnston must be happy in his daughters, particularly in this one. He can scarcely have regretted that he has had no sons. It seems natural, seeing how much too well acquainted we are with our sex, its weaknesses and wickednesses, that most men long for, and make much of daughters. Certainly, to have in one's old age a bright girlish face to look at, a lively original girlish tongue to freshen one's mind with new ideas, must be a pleasant thing. Whatever may have been the sorrows of his past life, Mr. Johnston is a fortunate man now. With regard to Treherne, I had the satisfaction of perceiving that, as Miss Theodora had prophesied, the old man's anger had blown over. His manner indicated not merely forgiveness, but a degree of kindly interest in that lighthearted youth, who was brimming over with fun and contentment. I had an opportunity of satisfying myself on this point, in another quarter, while waiting in the hall for Treherne's protracted adieu in the dining-room; when Miss Theodora, passing me, stopped, to interchange a word with me. "Shall you tell your friend what occurred to-night?--with papa, I mean." I replied, I was not sure--but perhaps I should. It might act as a warning. "Do you think he needs a warning?"