‘Have you seen much of poor Mary since she has been ill?’ asked Mrs. Dulcimer, artfully leading up to her subject. ‘I see her as often as I can, but not so often as I wish. But she has been well looked after.’ ‘Indeed.’ ‘Your little favourite, Miss Scratchell, has been quite devoted to her, and fortunately poor Mary has taken a strong fancy to Miss Scratchell.’ How fast Bella’s heart was beating now! and how close her ear was to the narrow line between the curtains! ‘Your little favourite.’ The careless kindness of his tone had a chilling sound in Bella’s ear. ‘I am delighted to hear you say so,’ replied Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘Bella is indeed a dear girl--clever, accomplished, useful; a treasure at home--beloved wherever she goes. What a wife she will make!’ ‘A capital one,’ said the curate. ‘I should be very pleased to marry her----’ Bella’s heart gave a leap. ‘To some thoroughly good fellow who could give her a happy home.’ Bella’s heart sank as heavily as a lump of lead. ‘And no doubt she will marry well,’ pursued the curate, in the same cheerful tone. ‘She is a very attractive girl as well as a good girl.’ Mrs. Dulcimer began to feel uncomfortable. Could she have been mistaken after all? Could she have misled poor Bella? It was not the first time in her life that her judgment had gone astray--but this time she had felt particularly sure of her facts, and she had been more than usually anxious for the success of her scheme. Bella’s home was so uncomfortable. It was absolutely incumbent on Mrs. Dulcimer, as an active Christian, to get the poor girl married. Match-making here was not an amusement, but a stringent duty. There was a pause, and for some moments Mrs. Dulcimer thought of abandoning her idea of drawing Cyril out. The attempt might be premature. And there was poor Bella listening intently, no doubt, and having her young hopes blighted by the indifference of the curate’s tone. Curiosity got the better of discretion, however, and Mrs. Dulcimer pursued her theme. ‘She is a sweet pretty girl,’ she said, ‘I really think she grows prettier every day. I wonder you can talk so cheerfully of marrying her to somebody else. What a charming wife she would make for you!’ ‘I dare say she would, if I wanted just that kind of wife, and if she wanted such a person as me for a husband. But I dare say I am as far from her ideal of a husband as she is from my ideal of a wife.’ Bella’s knees gave way under her at this point, and she sank into a languid heap upon the floor by the curtains. She did not faint, but she felt as if there were no more power or life in her limbs, as if she had sunk upon that spot never to rise any more, as if the best thing that could happen to her would be to lie there and feel life ebbing gently away, light slowly fading to eternal darkness.