And the ladies of Nettlehaugh and Foggo do not disdain now to call on Mrs. and Miss Allenders, nor even Miss Dunlop, though she stands upon her dignity, and has heard a secret whisper that these hands she condescends to shake, work at her collars and handkerchiefs, and earn bread by their labour. But at the end of the dining-room beside Cuthbert’s window, some preparations were begun long ago for the erection of that conservatory which Miss Dunlop recommended to Harry--and to her mother’s consternation, Miss Dunlop makes cool inquiries about it, and presumes they do not intend to carry it out now. Martha answers with a blank gravity which she has learned to assume, to cover the pang with which she mentions his name, that other more important wishes of Harry’s have to be carried out before she can come to this; but that what he intended shall be done without fail, and that it only waits a suitable time. “They say that Heaven loves those that die young,” says Martha, with a grave simplicity, “yet the dead who die in their youth leave many a hope and project unfulfilled--and few have been so full of projects, and had so little time to work them out.” This is all--but Miss Dunlop, bewildered and conscience-stricken, dares scarcely speak again of the fickle weakness of poor Allenders, and all his vain, magnificent aspirations, and efforts to be great. She has a vague impression that she has blundered in her hasty estimate of poor Harry, and that it was indeed because his sun went down at noon that none of his great intentions ripened into success--for no one ventures to prophesy failure to Harry’s purposes now.