"Oh, he's ten thousand times more objectionable! Mr. Burton is only a commonplace squire, looking like one in his top-boots, talking like one, and with a loud voice proclaiming himself lord of the manor, rooks, hounds, horses, and whippers-in! I don't think he's a bad man, yet there is something unreadable too about him, which debars confidence in his goodness; but he's a very disagreeable person, always reminding me of aunt Sylvia's glass of bark in the morning--an amiable invention, but most unpleasant to the palate. But Mr. Dalby,--oh! he's quite another thing!--_thing_ he is; too finical to be a man, too useless to be a woman, he is a compound of mock sentiment and unamiability; he drawls out his words, looking you sideways in the face, never giving you a bold, earnest look; he treats you like a sugar-plumb, and seems afraid of melting you by the fervour of a full-face regard, and he never has a kind or charitable word for any one; he's an insinuating creature, but not _in my case_, as he endeavours to be." "Hush, Minnie, you must not judge hastily or harshly." "I don't, dear aunt," and she loosed one gentle hand, and put her arm round the other's neck; "but I have noticed so many unamiable traits in his character--but aunt Sylvia thinks him perfection." "I suppose I must not now speak of my protegé--our young clergyman?" Minnie looked embarrassed. "Dearest aunty," she said at last, "I don't want to marry; I'm very happy: why so earnestly seek for one to take me away from you all? Mr. Skaife is sincere, I believe, in saying, he likes me; I like him as an acquaintance, but I shouldn't like to marry him. He's very good, kind, and charitable, I daresay; but I think he wants that sacred fire which, in his sacred calling, makes the chilly approach, to cheer themselves by the glowing warmth." "Oh, my dear child! your heart has not spoken, this is the truth; when it speaks, may it be for a worthy object--that's all I pray. _I_ like Mr. Skaife: for my sake, dear, try and do so likewise."