Charlotte continued her way upstairs, wondering excessively; not able, as she herself expressed it, to make head or tail of what Mrs. Arkell meant. Mrs. Arkell returned to the dining-room, asked her husband to sit down again for a few minutes, for he was standing with his bed-candle in his hand, and she made the communication. Elucidation was, however, near at hand, as it of necessity must be. On the following morning nothing was said at the breakfast-table; but on their going into the manufactory, Mr. Arkell took his son into his private room. Mr. Arkell sat down before his desk, and opened a letter that waited on it before he spoke. William stood by the fire, rather nervous. "So, young sir! you are wanting, I hear, to encumber yourself with a wife! Don't you think you had better have taken one in your leading-strings?" "I am twenty-five, sir," returned William, drawing himself up in all the dignity of the age. "And you have often said you hoped to see me settled before----" "Before I died. Very true, you graceless boy. But you don't want me to die yet, I suppose?" "Heaven forbid it!" fervently answered William. "Well," continued the good man--and William had known from the first, by the tone of the voice, the twinkle in the eye, that he was pleased instead of vexed--"I cannot but say you have chosen worthily. I suppose I must look over her being portionless." "Our business is an excellent one, and you have saved money besides, sir," observed William. "To look out for money with my wife would be superfluous." "Not exactly that," returned Mr. Arkell, in his keen, emphatic tone. "But I suppose you can't have everything. Few of us can. She has been a good and affectionate daughter, William, and she will make you a good wife. I should have been better pleased though, had there been no relationship between you." "Relationship!" repeated William. "For I share in the popular prejudice that exists against cousins marrying. But I am not going to make it an objection now, as you may believe, when I tell you that I foresaw long ago what your intimacy would probably end in. Your mother says it has been her cherished plan for years." William listened in bewilderment. "She is no cousin of mine," he said. "No what?" asked Mr. Arkell, pushing his glasses to the top of his forehead, the better to stare at his son--for those glasses served only for near objects, print and writing--"is the thought of this marriage turning your head, my boy?" "I don't understand what you are speaking of," returned William, perfectly mystified; "I only said she was not my cousin." "Why, bless my heart, what do you mean?" exclaimed Mr. Arkell. "She has been your cousin ever since she was born; she is the daughter of my poor brother Dan; do you want to disown the relationship now?"