“Then I perceive,” said Miss Amelia Harwood, “it’s true? Well, I don’t see much harm, for my part, if they have everything properly settled first. Poor Harry was all very well, I daresay, but he was a great fool not to provide for his children. Your brother said so at the time; but I did think, for my part, that Mary Clifford had the sense to know when she was well off.” “Oh, she shows that,” cried Lydia Summerhayes, with a little toss of her head; “widows are so designing; they know the ways of men, and how to manage them, very differently from any of us—if _we_ could stoop to such a thing, which of course, we wouldn’t. Oh yes, Mary Clifford knows _very_ well what she’s about. I am sure I have told Tom he was her honorary secretary for many a day. I thought she was just making use of him to serve her own purpose; I never thought how far her wiles went. If it had been her lawyer, or the curate, or any humble person; but Tom! He might have done so much better,” said Laura, chiming in at some imperceptible point, so that it was impossible to tell where one voice ended and the other began. “Well, I must say I am disappointed in Mary Clifford,” said Miss Harwood, “she was always such an affectionate creature. That’s why it is, I daresay. These affectionate people can’t do without an object; but her five children——” “Ah! yes, her five children,” exclaimed the Miss Summerhayes; “only imagine dear Tom making such a marriage! Why, Charley Clifford has been at Eton ever so long; he is fifteen. And dear Tom is quite a young man, and might have married anybody,” said the last of the two, taking up the chorus: “it is too dreadful to think of it—such a cutting blow to us.” “I can’t see how it is so very bad for you,” said Miss Amelia Harwood; “of course they will live at Fontanel, and you will still keep the manor-house. I think it’s rather a good thing for you for my part. Hush! there’s the child again—clever little thing—she knows quite well what we’ve been talking of. My dear, I hope Harriet showed you all the things—and isn’t that a pretty cushion? Tell your mamma I mean to make her buy it, as she is the richest lady I know.” “Are you going, my dears?” said the elder old lady. “I am sorry you have so little time to stay—I hope you will find things arrange themselves comfortably, and that everybody will be happy. Don’t get excited—it’s astonishing how everything settles down. You want to speak to me, Loo,” said Miss Harwood, starting a little when she had just reseated herself in her easy-chair after dismissing her visitors. “Certainly, dear; I suppose you have set your little heart on one of the pretty pincushions up-stairs.”