“It is so easy to say so,” said the troubled mother, “so easy to think what is best when one’s own heart is not concerned; But if I _was_ wrong I cannot help it now--Alice is so very unreasonable. She cannot endure the very sight of Mr. Reredos now--it is extremely distressing to me.” “I am very sorry to hear it, Mrs. Harley, but you know I cannot help you,” said I. “Oh! my dear Clare, I beg your pardon a thousand times for troubling you when you have such distressing news, but you know quite well you are all-powerful with Alice. Then another thing, Clara tells me that dear Bertie--dear fellow!--I am sure I loved him like a child of my own--had something to do with her sister’s behavior to the Rector--not that they were in love, you know, only some old childish friendship that the dear girl remembered when he was in danger. Do you think there is anything in it, Clara? Can that be the reason? but you know of course it is quite nonsense. Why, they have not met for eight years!” “That proves it must be nonsense, to be sure,” said I; “but excuse me, Mrs. Harley, this dear boy who is gone was very dear to me--I cannot mingle his name in any talk about other people. I beg your pardon--I can’t indeed.” “Dear, dear, it is I who should beg your pardon,” cried Mrs. Harley, in great distress; “I am sure I did not mean to be so selfish; but you used to be very fond of Alice, Clare--fonder of her than of any one else, though I say it. Long ago you would not have turned off anything that was for the poor girl’s good.” “You know I am as fond of Alice as ever I was--what do you want me to do?” cried I. “Oh, nothing, Clare, dear--nothing but a little good advice,” said Mrs. Harley. “If it should happen to be dear Bertie whom she has set her thoughts upon, just because he was in danger, as girls will do, and refusing other eligible offers, and throwing away quite a satisfactory match and suitable establishment, wouldn’t you speak to her, dear Clare? Her dear papa had such confidence in you that you would always be a friend to his girls--he said so many a time, long before we knew what was going to happen. You have such influence with all my children, Mrs. Crofton--almost more than their mother has. Do represent to Alice how much she’s throwing away--and especially, alas! _now_.” This emphasis was rather too much for my patience. “You forget,” I said, “that Alice is able to judge for herself--she is not a girl now”---- “She is seven and twenty, Mrs. Crofton--do you mean to reproach her with her age?” said Mrs. Harley, with an angry color rising on her face. “Reproach her! for what?” said I, constrained to laugh in the midst of my grief. “Why will you tease Alice, and yourself, and me? She is very well--she is,” I added, with a little gulp, swallowing my better knowledge, “quite contented and happy--why will you torture her into marrying? She is quite satisfied to be as she is.”