“Oh, what is he saying to my boy?” cried the agitated woman, wringing her hands. To see the discussion going on before their eyes gave the last touch of the intolerable to their anxiety. “Oh, Kate, I am a bad woman!” said Mrs Mitford; “I could hate you, and I could hate your father, for bringing all this trouble on my John.” “I don’t wonder,” cried Kate, in her passion; and then she made an effort to conquer herself. “Papa cannot eat him,” she added, with a little harsh laugh of emotion. “I have had the worst of it. He will never say to John what he said to me.” “What did he say to you?” “Oh, nothing!” she cried, recollecting herself. “He is my own papa; he has a right to say what he likes to me. It is John who is speaking now--that is a good sign. And when he chooses, and takes the trouble, John can speak so well; he is so clever. I never meant to have let him do all this, and give everybody so much trouble; but when he began to talk like _that_, what was I to do?” “Oh, Kate!” cried the mother, with her eyes full of tears, “we are so selfish--we never thought of that! How were you to resist him more than the rest of us? My dear boy--he had always such a winning way!” “John is speaking still,” said Kate. “Mamma, I think things must be coming round. There--papa has put his hand on his arm. When he does that he is beginning to give in. Oh, if we could only hear what they say!” “He is so earnest in all he does,” said Mrs Mitford. “Kate! listen to what I am going to say to you. If this ever comes to anything----” “Of course it will come to something,” cried Kate. “I am not so good as John. If papa were to stand out, I should just wait till I was one-and-twenty; and then, if John pleased---- Now they are turning back again. Oh, will they never be done? It is just like men, walking and talking, walking and talking for ever, and us poor women waiting here.” “But, Kate, listen to me,” said Mrs Mitford, solemnly; “if it ever comes to anything, you must be very very careful with my John. Look at his dear face, how it shines with feeling! He loves you so--he would put himself under your father’s feet. I feel as if I could tell you the very words he is saying. And you--you have been brought up so differently. If you were tempted to be careless, and forget his ways of thinking, and prefer society and the world----” “I see how it is,” said Kate, with a mournful cadence in her voice--she did not turn her head, for her eyes were still intently fixed on the distant figures out of doors; “I see how it is--you don’t think I am the right girl for John.” “I did not say so,” said Mrs Mitford, humbly; “how can I tell? I can’t divine what is in my own boy’s heart, and how can I divine yours? But I will love you for his sake. Oh, Kate! if you are good to him----”