‘Then tell your daughter it don’t look well, and she’ll keep out of your way next time she does it. Now, don’t you fret about nothing. I can’t see any objection to it, if the young people _do_ fancy each other. Harland is a man of good birth and breeding, and will suit Grace a deal better than Charlie Monro.’ ‘Then you won’t speak to her, John?’ ‘No, my dear. You can do as you like about it, but I don’t care to put my finger between the fire and the wood. If the young man was objectionable to me, he wouldn’t be here. I sha’n’t take any notice of the affair until he asks my consent.’ ‘And you will give it, John?’ ‘Yes! I guess I shall give it, conditionally. He must see his way to making an income, of course, before he can marry a wife. But we’re in no hurry to part with Grace, and a very small certainty will satisfy me. All I think of is the girl’s happiness.’ ‘That’s just what I’m thinking of too,’ sighed his wife. ‘Well, mother, then we’re of one mind as usual. But I’ve promised to join the gentleman in a game of poker, so I must leave you. Now, don’t sit here by yourself, fretting for nothing.’ ‘John, does Mr Harland play high?’ demanded Mrs Vansittart anxiously. ‘Terrible high,’ replied her husband, laughing. ‘Farthing points, and generally loses them. I won tenpence three farthings off him last night. Oh! he’s an inveterate gambler. You may take my word for that.’ And chuckling over his own sarcasm, he went off to the smoking-room. Mrs Vansittart, seeing it was of no use to speak to her husband on the subject, resolved to take the first opportunity to broach it with her daughter. She was a simple soul, and she felt nervous at the idea of offending Grace; but she was a fond mother, and, like the timid ewe, could fight to defend her young. But the opportunity did not occur for some days. Then Grace, happening to have lingered too long in the sun, contracted a violent headache, and came to her mother’s cabin to lie down, and be petted and made much of. And whilst Mrs Vansittart was bathing her daughter’s forehead with _eau-de-Cologne_, and fanning it to soothe the pain, she ventured to allude to the subject which occupied her mind. ‘You shouldn’t stand in the sun, my dear, when there’s an awning to sit under. You’ll get fever if you don’t take care. Whatever made you so careless?’ ‘I don’t know, mamma. I was talking, and didn’t feel how hot it was.’ ‘Who were you talking to--Mr Harland?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And what were you talking of?’ ‘How can I remember,’ replied Grace, colouring; ‘a dozen different things.’ ‘A dozen different things don’t matter,’ said Mrs Vansittart oracularly. ‘It’s _one_ thing I wouldn’t let Mr Harland speak of, if I was you, Grace, my dear.’ ‘And what is that?’ asked the girl, in a low voice. ‘Marriage.’ ‘Why not, mother? Why shouldn’t he speak of it as well as any other man?’ ‘Because I don’t think he’d make a good husband.’