‘It is very difficult to serve one’s fellow-creatures,’ she said presently. ‘But this is not a business to be given up lightly, Kenrick. This foolish girl is Mr. Dulcimer’s ward, and it is his duty to see her advantageously settled in life. Now Clement is the very last man to think of such a thing. He considers he has done his duty when he has given Beatrix the run of his library.’ ‘Yes,’ said Kenrick. ‘It is dear Dulcimer’s only fault to consider books the beginning, middle, and end of life.’ ‘Something must be done,’ declared Mrs. Dulcimer, with a sudden accession of energy. ‘Beatrix ought to marry, and she ought to marry a man of position. I cannot imagine a more suitable husband than yourself. Come, Kenrick, be frank with me. You have not told me everything. There must be some other reason. Don’t you remember an admission Beatrix made at that dreadful inquest? There was a love affair of which her father disapproved. Nothing but a prior attachment could prevent her accepting you. I feel convinced it must be that.’ ‘It is that,’ answered Kenrick. ‘You can keep a secret, I suppose, Mrs. Dulcimer?’ ‘My dear Kenrick, I have kept hundreds.’ This was true, but Mrs. Dulcimer forgot to add how short a time she had kept them. The Vicar’s wife’s secret of to-day was the town-crier’s secret of to-morrow. ‘Then I’ll trust you with the clue to the mystery. There is a prior attachment--to my cousin Cyril.’ ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘Then that is why he was so indifferent to poor Bella Scratchell, the very girl for him.’ ‘He is a contemptible cur,’ said Kenrick. He went on to abuse his cousin roundly. It was a good thing for him, no doubt, that Cyril had behaved so badly, for it gave Kenrick just the chance that Beatrix would put the false lover out of her mind and marry the true one. He told Mrs. Dulcimer everything. ‘Something must be done,’ she said finally, and she made up her mind that she, Selina Dulcimer, was the right person to undertake the task. CHAPTER XII. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE. BEFORE Sir Kenrick’s leave came to an end Mrs. Piper had gone to the land where there are no sordid cares, no gnawing doubts as to the honesty of servants, no heart-corroding regrets at the wastefulness and expenditure of a large household. Mrs. Piper had gone to that undiscovered country where we may fairly hope that for those who have lived harmlessly upon earth all is peace. Mr. Piper drove his smart little pony cart about the country roads and through the village street as usual, but he wore an altered countenance and crape to the top of his tall hat. He no longer had a noisy greeting for every one, no longer quoted Jeremy Bentham or William Cobbett. Never was widower more disconsolate than Ebenezer Piper. Honestly and truly he mourned the careful partner of his youth and maturity.