Sylvia had only heard a portion of this sentence, the prophecy about Miles and Minnie. She had extraordinary faith in the worldly perceptiveness of Mrs. Gillett. She anxiously inquired the foundation for the other's suspicion; but the good generalship of the matron forbade any undue confidence respecting her reasons, merely contenting herself with alarming her listener to the fullest extent of her powers, by persisting in her belief, as arising _principally_, she laid a stress on this word, thereby implying that she held back more cogent articles for her belief, from the fact of Miss Minnie's own statement, that she had been walking with this Miles Tremenhere, for to no one would this very politic woman confess, that she had recognised him herself at a glance. Mrs. Gillett was a very cautious person indeed, one of those whose opinions would never choke them from a too hasty formation of them, nor her words leave a bitterness in her mouth from an inconsiderate utterance of them. She was a perfect reflector, throwing her light upon others, and not suffering thereby herself. Minnie had a sorry day of it; first, Sylvia had lectured her, then Juvenal, and lastly, Dorcas commenced questioning, but this latter did it, as she ever acted with her beloved niece, in kindness. As for the others, they would fain have bent her to their separate wills; but Minnie had learned to judge for herself coolly and dispassionately, else where would she have been, occurring as it did, that all three had fixed upon a different object for her husband? To Dorcas she was all affection, rendering full justice to that aunt's interest in her, and correct judgment; but it so happens that in affairs of the heart, our very dearest and best friends are too frequently incapable of judging what would be most conducive to our real happiness, though, in a mere worldly point of view, they may be right. A little counsel, a little guidance, and much sincere interest in our welfare, are the best methods after all; _certainly not_ coercion, that makes us infallibly look with premature dislike on the one for whom we are persecuted. "I do wonder, dear aunt," said Minnie to the one she loved so well, "why you are so anxious to make me marry, never having done so yourself--how is it?" The truth never crossed Minnie's mind. Dorcas looked down, and a pale blush of something resembling shame crossed her cheek; then she looked up with candour and affection. "My dear child," she said, "Sylvia would not perhaps like my telling the exact truth, which is this, that in fact no one ever asked either of us!"