“I have had a letter from dear Arthur,” said Mrs. Agar, at a moment which she deemed propitious, namely, after a third glass of the Stagholme brown sherry. “Ah! I hope he is well. The boy is not strong.” “Yes, he is quite well, thank you. But of course he has had a great shock, and one cannot expect him to get over it all at once.” The Rector did not hold much by sentiment, so he contented himself with a grave sip of sherry. “And now I am afraid there is fresh trouble,” added Mrs. Agar. “Been running into debt?” suggested Mr. Glynde. “No, it is not that. No, it is Dora.” “Dora! What has Dora been doing?” Mrs. Agar was polishing the rim of a silver salt-cellar with her forefinger. “Of course,” she said, “I have seen it going on for a long time. My poor boy has always--well, he has always admired Dora.”' “Oh!” “Yes, and of course I should like nothing better. I am sure they would be most happy.” The Rector looked doubtful. “We must not forget,” he said, “that Arthur is constitutionally delicate. That extreme repugnance to active exercise, the love of ease and--er--indoor pursuits, show a tendency to enfeeble the organisation which might--I don't say it will, but it might--turn to decline.” “But the doctors say that he is quite strong. Everybody cannot be robust and--and massive.” She was thinking of Jem, against whom she had always borne a grudge, because his inoffensive presence alone had the power of making Arthur look puny. “No; and of course with care one may hope that Arthur will live to a ripe old age,” said the Rector, who was only coquetting with the question. Mrs. Agar played with a biscuit. She had a rooted aversion to the query direct. “I should have thought,” she said, “that you or her mother would have seen that such an attachment was likely to form itself.” The truth was that the Reverend Thomas did not devote very much thought to any subject which did not directly influence his own well-being. He had at one time thought that an attachment between Jem and Dora might conveniently result from a childhood's friendship, but Arthur had not entered into his prognostications at all. He rather despised the youth, as much on his own account as that he was Anna Agar's son. “Can't say,” he replied, “that the thing ever entered my head. Of course, if the young people have settled it all between themselves, I suppose we must give them our blessing, and be thankful that we have been saved further trouble.” He thought it rather strange that Dora should have fixed her affections on such an unlikely object as Arthur Agar; but it was part of his earthly creed that the feelings of women are as incomprehensible as they are unimportant. Which, by the way, serves to show how very little the Rector of Stagholme knew of the world. “But,” protested Mrs. Agar, “they have _not_ settled it between themselves. That is just it.” “Just what?” “Just the difficulty.”