“Or the two-headed sheep—” “But I am the unmarried woman with—half a dozen millions of money—as I believe some people think. Under such circumstances have I a fair chance of getting my own sweet bit of grass to nibble, like any ordinary animal with one head? I never was very beautiful, and I am not more so now than I was fifteen years ago.” “I am quite sure it is not that which hinders it. You would not call yourself plain; and even plain women are married every day, and are loved, too, as well as pretty women.” “Are they? Well, we won’t say more about that; but I don’t expect a great many lovers on account of my beauty. If ever you hear of such an one, mind you tell me.” It was almost on Mrs. Gresham’s tongue to say that she did know of one such—meaning her uncle. But in truth, she did not know any such thing; nor could she boast to herself that she had good grounds for feeling that it was so—certainly none sufficient to justify her in speaking of it. Her uncle had said no word to her on the matter, and had been confused and embarrassed when the idea of such a marriage was hinted to him. But, nevertheless, Mrs. Gresham did think that each of these two was well inclined to love the other, and that they would be happier together than they would be single. The difficulty, however, was very great, for the doctor would be terribly afraid of being thought covetous in regard to Miss Dunstable’s money; and it would hardly be expected that she should be induced to make the first overture to the doctor. “My uncle would be the only man that I can think of that would be at all fit for you,” said Mrs. Gresham, boldly. “What, and rob poor Lady Scatcherd!” said Miss Dunstable. “Oh, very well. If you choose to make a joke of his name in that way, I have done.” “Why, God bless the girl! what does she want me to say? And as for joking, surely that is innocent enough. You’re as tender about the doctor as though he were a girl of seventeen.” “It’s not about him; but it’s such a shame to laugh at poor dear Lady Scatcherd. If she were to hear it she’d lose all comfort in having my uncle near her.” “And I’m to marry him, so that she may be safe with her friend!” “Very well; I have done.” And Mrs. Gresham, who had already got up from her seat, employed herself very sedulously in arranging flowers which had been brought in for the drawing-room tables. Thus they remained silent for a minute or two, during which she began to reflect that, after all, it might probably be thought that she also was endeavouring to catch the great heiress for her uncle. “And now you are angry with me,” said Miss Dunstable. “No, I am not.” “Oh, but you are. Do you think I’m such a fool as not to see when a person’s vexed? You wouldn’t have twitched that geranium’s head off if you’d been in a proper frame of mind.” “I don’t like that joke about Lady Scatcherd.” “And is that all, Mary? Now do try and be true, if you can. You remember the bishop? _Magna est veritas._”