“To-morrow will indeed be too late: Augustus said so distinctly. The appointment will be given to some one else--and then--” “And then, you acute, logical and businesslike young lady?” There was no time for ultra-delicacy. “And then you may not be able to marry Penelope for ten more years.” “Penelope will be exceedingly obliged to you for suggesting the possibility, and taking me to task for it in this way--such a child as you?” Am I a child? but it mattered not to him how old I seem to have grown. Nor did his satirical tone vex me as it once might have done. “Forgive me,” I said; “I did not mean to take you to task. But it is not your own happiness alone which is at stake, and Penelope is my sister.” Strange to say, he was not offended. Perhaps, if Penelope had sometimes spoken her mind to him, instead of everlastingly adoring him, he might have been the better for it. Francis sighed, and made another scribble on his paper--“Do you think, you who seem to be well acquainted with your sister's mind, that Penelope would be exceedingly unhappy if--if I were to decline this appointment?” “Decline--oh!--you're jesting.” “Not at all. The governorship looks far finer than it is. A hot climate--and I detest warm weather: no society--and I should lose all my London enjoyments--give up all my friends and acquaintance.” “So would Penelope.” “So would Penelope, as you say. But--” “But women count that as nothing--they are used to it. Easy for them to renounce home and country, kindred and friends, and follow a man to the ends of the earth. Quite natural, and they ought to be exceedingly obliged to him for taking them.” He looked at me; then begged me not to fly into a passion, as somebody might hear. I said he might trust me for that; I would rather not, for his sake--for all our sakes, that anybody did hear--and then the thought of Penelope's gay letter suddenly choked me. “Don't cry, Dora--I never could bear to see a girl cry. I am very sorry. Heaven help me! was there ever such an unfortunate fellow born? but it is all circumstances: I have been the sport of circumstances during my whole life. No, you need not contradict. What the devil do you torment me for?” I have thought since, how great must have been the dormant irritation and excitement which could have forced that ugly word out of the elegant lips of Francis Charteris. And, the smile being off it, I saw a face, haggard and sallow with anxiety. I told him, as gently as I could, that the only thing wanted of him was to make up his mind, either way.--If he saw good reasons for declining--why, decline; Penelope would be content.