‘Yes, my dear, I know what an excellent daughter you are. A good daughter will always make a good wife. But in a large family like yours the sooner a girl marries the better. Let me see, now, how many sisters have you?’ ‘Four.’ ‘Four! good gracious! Five girls in one family! That’s quite dreadful! I can’t see where five husbands are to come from. Not out of Little Yafford, I am afraid.’ ‘But, dear Mrs. Dulcimer, we are not all obliged to marry.’ ‘My poor child, what else are you to do? There is nothing between that and being governesses.’ ‘Then we must all be governesses. I had rather be a tolerably contented governess than a miserable wife.’ ‘But you might be a very happy wife--if you marry the man who loves you.’ Bella blushed again, and this time more deeply. Did Mrs. Dulcimer know or suspect anything? Bella’s heart thrilled strangely. To be loved, how sweet it sounded! To have her life all at once transformed to something new and strange, lifted out of this dull level of poverty-stricken monotony, in which it had crept on for all the years she could remember! ‘I must wait till the true lover appears, Mrs. Dulcimer,’ she answered quietly, though the beating of her heart had quickened. ‘I have never met him yet.’ ‘Haven’t you, Bella? You may have met him without knowing it. I have an idea that Cyril Culverhouse is very fond of you.’ Now if Bella had heard Mrs. Dulcimer express such an idea in relation to any one but herself, she would have given the notion exactly its just value, which would have been nothing--for it was Mrs. Dulcimer’s peculiar faculty to evolve ideas of this kind from her inner consciousness--but, applied to herself, the notion had a startling effect upon Bella’s nerves and brain. Could it be? Cyril--her ideal preacher--the man whose earnest eyes had made her tremble strangely, at odd times, when her own eyes met them suddenly. Cyril, the only being who had ever made her feel the littleness of her own views and aspirations, and that, despite all her gifts, she was a very poor creature. That Cyril could care for her--value her--love her--it was too bright a dream! She forgot that he was little better off than herself--that he could do nothing to lift her out of her dull life of aching poverty. She forgot everything, except that it would be the sweetest thing in the world to be loved by him. ‘Indeed, Mrs. Dulcimer, you must be mistaken’, she said, her voice trembling a little. ‘Mr. Culverhouse has not given me a thought--he has never said one word that----’ ‘My dear, he is too honourable to say anything until he felt himself in a position to speak plainly, and that would hardly be till he has got a living. But the Church will not be such slow work for him as it is for most young men, you may depend. He has great gifts.’ ‘He has indeed,’ sighed Bella.