“Well, I suppose I am an old gentleman,” said the Rector, ruefully; “at least to babies like you. That is how things go in this world--one shifts the burden on to one’s neighbor. Probably Sir Joseph is of my mind, and thinks somebody else old. And then, in revenge, we have nothing to do but to call you young creatures babies, though you have the world in your hands,” Mr. Hardcastle added, with a sigh; for he was a vigorous man, and a widower, and had been already twice married, and saw no reason why he should not take that step again. And it was hard upon him to be called an old gentleman in this unabashed and open way. “Well, they have the world before them,” said Mr. Brownlow; “but I am not so sure that they have it in their hands.” “We have nothing in our hands,” said Sara, indignantly--“even I, though papa is awfully good to me. I don’t mean to speak slang, but he is _awfully_ good, you know; and what does it matter? I daren’t go anywhere by myself, or do any thing that every body else doesn’t do. And as for Fanny, she would not so much as take a walk if she thought you did not like it.” “Fanny is a very good girl,” said Mr. Hardcastle, with a certain melting in his voice. “We are all very good girls,” said Sara; “but what is the use of it? We have to do every thing we are told just the same; and have old Lady Motherwell, for example, sitting upon one, whenever she has a chance. And then you say we have the world in our hands! If you were to let us do a little as we pleased, and be happy our own way--” “Then you have changed your mind,” said Mr. Brownlow. He was smiling, but yet underneath that he was very serious, not able to refrain from giving in his mind a thousand times more weight than they deserved to his daughter’s light and random words, though he knew well enough they were random and light. “I thought you were a dutiful child, who would do what I asked you, even in the most important transaction of your life--so you said once, at least.” “Any thing you asked me, papa?” cried Sara, with a sudden change of countenance. “Yes, to be sure! any thing! Not because I am dutiful, but because--you are surely all very stupid to-day--because-- Don’t you know what I mean?” “Yes,” said young Powys, who all this time had not spoken a word. Perhaps in her impatience her eye had fallen upon him; perhaps it was because he could not help it; but however that might be, the monosyllable sent a little electric shock round the table. As for the speaker himself, he had no sooner uttered it than he reddened like a girl up to his very hair. Sara started a little, and became suddenly silent, looking at the unexpected interpreter she had got; and as for the Rector, he stared with the air of a man who asks himself, What next?