But, alas! She was too late, even if she could have pulled herself together, which I doubt; for she had fallen into very lazy, slovenly habits. But she never had the opportunity. Mr. Rayburn was very prompt to act when once his mind was made up. He spoke to his friend Thompson that very night, ascertained that Miss Lydia had a very little money of her own, and would be glad, her brother thought, to have a house of her own too. He said also that she was a capable housekeeper, and understood the art of cookery to an extent that was a constant admiration to his wife and daughters; and that she was, moreover, good tempered and easy to get on with. So Mr. Rayburn made his plain and unromantic proposals, and was accepted after a few hours' consideration. And before Judith had well begun her projected reformation, she found, herself possessed of a mistress; but it was only for a short time. In a few days after the wedding she was quietly sent about her business, and a smart young person in white apron and cap installed in her place. Very soon the Gatehouse resumed its old air of sober comfort and spotless neatness, and once more peace and quiet reigned. I do not think that Mr. Rayburn ever had any reason to repent of his second marriage, and yet I know that had he really understood his wife, he would have disapproved very much of her. The second Mrs. Rayburn was an utterly selfish woman, and had been utterly selfish all her life. But she was far too clever to show it openly. She had ruled her mother, but had made her rule pleasant. The good woman had sons and married daughters, whom she would at one time have liked to help occasionally; but she was convinced, she hardly knew how, that she ought to save every penny for poor Lydia, the only unmarried one. At her brother's house, Lydia had found it her best plan to be helpful and pleasant to her sister-in-law, and had made herself very useful to the girls. And now she saw that to stand well with Fred was her cue, and she proved a delightful stepmother. I must not make this part of my story too long, as it is really only introductory, but I do not see how to make the events that follow clear without this preparatory sketch. For about ten years the household went on almost without a change. Fred settled down into a good clerk, and rose in the counting-house; he still played the flute, but he no longer wrote poetry, having, indeed, failed to find a publisher for his laments over his wasted intellect. And, indeed, though he was a good fellow enough, I do not think that any great waste was possible in that matter.