My aunt and Conny were out when I got to Grove End, and did not return until twenty minutes before dinner-time, so that I could have no conversation until we had dined. At table, I was very calm and pensive, and felt so sentimental, that I think, had I been asked, I could have written an ode fit to appear in any private album. I watched Conny incessantly: too much so, I fear, for I believe I embarrassed her. I wish she had laughed: I wish she had sneered: I wish she had insulted me. I wanted steeling. But no! she gave me thrilling looks, kept her countenance, and eat so languidly, that my heart leapt up, like Wordsworth’s when he saw the blue sky; I believed that her father’s scheme had been unfolded to her, and that the fear of losing me had taught her to know she LOVED! Neither my uncle nor aunt conversed with their wonted ease. A cloud overhung us. I noticed that, when Thomas spoke, his wife grew absent; that when he addressed her, she grew disdainful. Yes! there had been a quarrel; no, not a quarrel, but an argument. “She’s a woman,” I thought, regarding her affectionately; “and all women are on the side of sentiment _versus_ lucre; passion _versus_ fine houses: emotion _versus_ Gillow’s furniture. She will be my friend: fight for me against her husband, and Dick, and Teazer: save me from being married in spite of my screams, and finally hand me victorious to her lovely, blushing Conny.” After dinner my uncle asked me to smoke a cigar with him in the library. I thanked him, and declined. I wanted to get to my aunt, and felt as if the smell of a cigar would make me ill. “Why, what’s the matter with you?” he exclaimed, looking at me earnestly. “Not smoke!” “Sometimes I don’t care about smoking,” said I. “So much the better. I have often thought that you smoke too much. Where are you going?” “Into the grounds. I find this room uncommonly warm.” “By the way, I mentioned our conversation to my wife, and I am mortified to find her opposed to the scheme. The fact is, women never will take practical views. They don’t seem able to understand that money is necessary for life; and many of them, I am persuaded, believe that their husbands have nothing to do, when a bill comes in, but to go out of doors and pick enough money out of the soil to pay it with. I can quite understand her liking you so well as to regret that it is out of our power to sanction your marriage with Conny; but I _can’t_ understand her thinking such a match desirable, when she knows that--through no fault of yours--you couldn’t support a wife.” “I’d rather talk in the open air,” I answered. “This room is very oppressive.” “Very well. I’ll follow you presently. I am very glad to see that you are beginning to take to my scheme kindly.” “I!” but I wouldn’t argue.