“Brother Peter, I have no patience with you. You enumerate one by one all the ingredients, and you disparage the total. You tell of the flour, and the plums, and the suet, and the candied lemon, but you cry out against the pudding! Don't you see that the very themes you leave for them all conduce to what you ignore, and that your music and painting and romance-reading only lead to love-making? Don't you see this, or are you in reality--I didn't want to say it, but you have made me--are you an old fool?” “I hope not, Dinah; but I'm not so sure you don't think me one.” “It's nothing to the purpose whether I do or not,” said she; “the question is, have you asked this young man to come back with us to Ireland?” “I have, and he is coming.” “I could have sworn to it,” said she, with a sudden energy; “and if there was anything more stupid, you 'd have done it also.” And with this speech, more remarkable for its vigor than its politeness, she turned away and left him. Ere I close the chapter and the subject, let me glance, and only glance, at the room where Conyers is now standing beside Josephine. She is drawing, not very attentively or carefully, perhaps, and he is bending over her and relating, as it seems, something that has occurred to him, and has come to the end with the words, “And though I was to have gone this evening, it turns out that now I am to stay and accompany you to Ireland.” “Don't sigh so painfully over it, however,” said she, gravely; “for when you come to mention how distressing it is, I 'm sure they 'll let you off.” “Fifine,” said he, reproachfully, “is this fair, is this generous?” “I don't know whether it be unfair, I don't want it to be generous,” said she, boldly. “In point of fact, then, you only wish for me here to quarrel with, is that the truth?” “I think it better fun disagreeing with you than always saying how accurate you are, and how wise, and how well-judging. That atmosphere of eternal agreement chokes me; I feel as if I were suffocating.” “It's not a very happy temperament; it's not a disposition to boast of.” “You never did hear me boast of it; but I have heard _you_ very vainglorious about your easy temper and your facile nature, which were simply indolence. Now, I have had more than enough of that in the convent, and I long for a little activity.” “Even if it were hazardous?” “Even if it were hazardous,” echoed she. “But here comes Aunt Dinah, with a face as stern as one of the sisters, and an eye that reminds me of penance and bread and water; so help me to put up my drawings, and say nothing of what we were talking.” “My brother has just told me, Mr. Conyers,” said she, in a whisper, “a piece of news which it only depends upon you to make a most agreeable arrangement.” “I trust you may count upon me, madam,” said he, in the same tone, and bowed low as he spoke. “Then come with me and let us talk it over,” said she, as she took his arm and led him away. END OF VOL. I.