The writer can of course read the minds of his characters, and this is what Miss Chatterton said to herself: "Mr. Mitchelson is looking out for another wife, and, if I am not mistaken, it will be one of the Priory girls. The youngest, most likely, for she is so like his dead wife. That match would just suit Mrs. Manning, but I think the course will not be quite so smooth as she anticipates. I should like to put a little something in the way which will disappoint both mother and daughter." "If only Mr. Gilmour were back again. I dare say Miss Elsie thinks I did not see the flutter of her white dress as she escaped by the window when I called at the Priory. Perhaps she fancies I was too far off to know anything of the parting at the gate when Mr. Gilmour held her hand so unnecessarily long, and bent his head so low, to whisper his good-bye. Miss Elsie's cheek was rosy enough, though to most eyes there was nothing special to be seen. Near-sighted I may be, but one does not need spectacles for what is going on under one's very nose. My going into the lodge to ask after Mason's sick child was a most fortunate circumstance, for which I feel quite thankful." "And Mrs. Manning, too! Giving herself airs, when, just in a joking way, I said a word or two about Mr. Mitchelson being a good match; as though I could not see through her and her plans! Poor old Mr. Manning! I dare say he thinks his sister-in-law perfect, and the girls angels, in all but the wings. Ah! No doubt they are all counting on their shares in the old gentleman's money-bags. It would have been well for him if, instead of adopting a family in that wholesale way, he had chosen some good sensible woman of suitable age, and married again." Perhaps, without going further into Miss Chatterton's thoughts, we may be able to guess what was the bitterest drop in the full cup of grievances which Mrs. Manning and her family had, quite unconsciously, prepared for that lady's drinking. CHAPTER VI. SHOW-DAY came at last, and Miss Chatterton, albeit she did not like to be unfashionably early, was quite unable to restrain her anxiety for a few moments' talk with Mr. Mitchelson, and to see the arrivals. "I am too soon, I know I am," she said, with an apologetic tone and coaxing manner; "but, dear Mr. Mitchelson, you will forgive an old woman, to whom a bustle is naturally a trial. It is so very pleasant to see the people dropping in, one or two at a time, instead of elbowing one's way through a crowd. Not that in such a place as this, and with such perfect arrangements, there can be any crowding; but you know what I mean, I am sure, and can sympathise with a person of my years." Miss Chatterton liked to speak pathetically of her years, though she would have objected to this being done by any other person.