Amiable and uniformly correct as Mrs. Flint's conduct was, you will not be surprised, that I endeavoured, not only as a son, but _as a gentleman_, to shew her that respect and those attentions to which she was entitled. She loved reading, and my library was hers. Sometimes she would steal an hour from her tiresome duties, and with her needle-work join Mary; and I read to them. She loved flowers and plants; and I became diligent in the culture of them. My father was pleased with this acquiescence on my part, and one morning he asked whether I was not satisfied that he had augmented his comforts. I replied with sincerity, saying that I had no doubt of it; and that I was also convinced, that in his wife Mary would find a guide and a friend. "So I think," returned he smiling, "I saw from the first hour that they would suit each other." A few weeks passed in peace and comfort, when suddenly my father relapsed into ill-humour, and was still more harsh and abrupt with me than ever. Stung by some rudeness of this sort, I asked him what had offended him. "Your conduct," said he roughly. "I do not want you to make love to my wife."--"I am sorry," answered I, "that you so little understand me, Sir; you make me wretched by your suspicions, and injure a woman whom I believe to be truly virtuous."--"I believe her so," returned he, "but I want no rival under my roof." He left me. I was confounded and astonished beyond conception, and in my road to my friend Howard's, which I instantly took, I endeavoured by recalling my most indifferent actions, to find a clew by which to unravel this unaccountable jealousy which my father had shewn. Conscious that I had never in the most remote manner, either experienced or discovered a sentiment beyond that good-will and respect which my actions had evinced, I mentioned, in the course of my conversation with Howard, an incident of a recent date, which at the moment struck me, and which then appeared to explain, in some sort, my father's ill-humour, though not his suspicions.