“Agatha, love,” repeated Emma, with the affectionate accent that was always quite real, but which now deepened under the circumstances of the case, “do you know that young Northen has been speaking to Mr. Thornycroft about you again.” “I am very sorry for it,” was the short answer. “But, my dear, isn't it a great pity that you could not like the young man? Such a good young man too, and with such a nice establishment already. If you could only see his house in Cumberland Terrace--the real Turkey carpets, inlaid tables, and damask chairs.” “But I can't marry carpets, tables, and chairs.” “Agatha, you are _so_ funny! Certainly not, without the poor man himself. But there is no harm in him, and I am sure he would make an excellent husband.” “I sincerely hope so, provided he is not mine. Come, Tittens, tell Mrs. Thornycroft what _you_ think on the matter,” cried the wilful girl, trying to turn the question off by catching her little favourite. But Emma would not thus be set aside. She was evidently well primed with a stronger and steadier motive than what usually occupied and sufficed her easy mind. “Ah, how can you be so childish! But when you come to my age”--- “I shall, in a few more years. I wonder if I shall be as young-looking as you, Emma?” This was a very adroit thrust on the part of Miss Agatha, but for once it failed. “I hope and trust so, dear. That is, if you have as good a husband as I have. Only, be he what he may, he cannot be such another as my dear James.” Agatha internally hoped he might not; for, much as she liked and respected Emma's good spouse, her ideal of a husband was certainly not Mr. James Thornycroft. “Tell me,” continued the anxious matron, keeping up the charge--“tell me, Agatha, do you ever intend to marry at all? “Perhaps so; I can't say. Ask Tittens!” “Did you ever think in earnest of marrying? And”--here with an air of real concern Emma stole her arm round her friend's waist--“did you ever see anybody whom you fancied you could like, if he asked you?” Agatha laughed, but the colour was rising in her brown cheek. “Tut, tut, what nonsense!” “Look at me, dear, and answer seriously.” Agatha, thus hemmed in, turned her face full round, and said, with some dignity, “I do not know, Emma, what right you have to ask me that question.” “Ah, it is so; I feared it was,” sighed Emma, not in the least offended. “I often thought so, even before he hinted----”-- “Who hinted--and what?” “I can't tell you; I promised not. And of course you ought not to know. Oh, dear, what am I letting out!” added poor Mrs. Thornycroft, in much discomfiture. “Emma, you will make me angry. What ridiculous notion have you got into your head? What on earth do you mean?” cried Miss Bowen, speaking quicker than her usual quick fashion, and dashing the kitten off her knee as she rose.