Alice paused a moment, then she cast rather a defiant glance at me, and answered, proudly: “If any one has been forming foolish plans about me, Mrs. Crofton, the responsibility is not mine--I know I am not to blame.” “That may be very true,” said I, “but I am not speaking of responsibility. Don’t you think, dear, that this is important enough to be taken into consideration without any impatience of personal feeling? Deciding one’s life by the ordeal of marriage is a human necessity it appears. You are a clergyman’s daughter--no way could you fill a better or more congenial place than as a clergyman’s wife. If I were you I should not conclude at once, because, perhaps, in the meantime, of your own accord, you have not quite fallen in desperate love with your lover. My dear, you think I am dreadfully common-place, but I cannot help it. Think, Alice!--you want a life for yourself--a house belonging to you, and you only--you do! Don’t say no--everybody does; think! Won’t you take all this into consideration before you decide?” “Because I am going to have ‘an offer,’ and perhaps I never may have another--because I am not so young now as to be able to throw away my chances--and it is _you_ who say so!” cried Alice, throwing at me an angry, bitter, scornful glance. Perhaps, if she had yielded more to my arguments, I might have found it harder than I did now. “You humiliate me,” she cried again: “if I want a life of my own, I want to make it myself; a house of my own?--no I have no ambition for that.” “But you falter a little when you say so,” said I, taking cruel advantage of her weakness. “Now, we are not going to discuss the disabilities of women. It is just as impossible for an unmarried man to have what I call a house of his own as it is for you; and as for the privilege of choice--good lack, good lack! much use it seems about to be to poor Mr. Reredos! My dear child, don’t be foolish--there is your brother Maurice with the most complete of educations, and no lack of power to make use of it. What is he going to do with himself? Where are the great advantages he has over his sister? _I_ can’t see them. But no, that’s not the question. The Rector is a good man; he is young, he is well off; he is agreeable. Your dearest friend could not choose a more suitable life for you than that you would have at the Hilfont Rectory. Now, Alice, think. Are you going to make up your mind to throw away all this, and a good man’s happiness besides?” “Oh, Mrs. Crofton! Mrs. Crofton! and it is you who say so!” said poor Alice, with looks which certainly must have consumed me had I been of combustible material--“this is from you!” “And why not, my dear?” said I, meekly. “Am not I next to your mother, Alice?--next oldest friend?--and next interested in your welfare?”