“That is precisely what I ventured to point out to Arthur,” said Dora, unconsciously borrowing her father's ironical neatness of enunciation. “But why shouldn't you take the opportunity? There are not many estates like it in England. Your position would be as good as that of a titled lady, and I am sure you could not want a better husband.” “I like Arthur as a friend, but I could never marry him, so it is useless to discuss the question.” “But why?” persisted Mrs. Agar. “Because I do not care for him in the right way.” “But that would come,” said Mrs. Agar. It was only natural that she should use an argument which is accountable for more misery on earth than mothers dream of. “No, it would never come.” Mrs. Agar gave a cunning little laugh, and paused so as to lend additional weight to her next remark. “That is a dangerous thing for a girl to say.” “Is it?” inquired Dora indifferently. “Yes, because they can never be sure, unless--” “Unless what? I am quite sure.” “Unless there is some one else,” said Mrs. Agar, with an exaggerated significance suggestive of the servants' hall. Dora did not answer at once. They walked on for a few moments in silence, passing other guests walking in couples. Then Dora replied with a succinctness acquired from her father: “Generalities about women,” she said, “are always a mistake. Indeed, all generalities are dangerous. But if you and Arthur care to apply this to me, you are at liberty to do so. Whatever generalities you apply and whatever you say will make no difference to the main question. Moreover, you will, perhaps, be acting a kinder part if you give Arthur to understand once for all that my decision is final.” “As you like, dear, as you like,” muttered Mrs. Agar, apparently abandoning the argument, whereas in reality she had not yet begun it. “How do you do, dear Mrs. Martin?” she went on in the same breath, bowing and smiling to a lady who passed them at that moment. “Of course,” she said, returning in a final way to the question after a few moments' silence, “of course I do not believe all I hear; in fact, I contradict a good deal. But I have been told that gossips talked about you a good deal last year, at the time of Jem's death. I think it only fair that you should know.” “Thank you,” said Dora curtly. “Of course, dear, _I_ didn't believe anything about it.” “Thank you,” said Dora again. “I should have been sorry to do so.” Then Dora turned upon her suddenly. “What do you mean, Aunt Anna?” she asked with determination. “Oh, nothing, dear, nothing. Don't get flurried about it.” “I am not at all flurried,” replied Dora quietly. “You said that you would be sorry to have to believe what gossips said of me last year at the time of Jem's death--” “Dora,” interrupted Mrs. Agar, “I never said anything against you in any way; how can you say such a thing?”