she would not allow him to make, was virtue and excellence to her. She was more proud of him because he wanted to tell her that he was a sinner, and acknowledge his unworthiness, than if he had been the most unsullied and excellent of men. Wentworth’s sister had always been Grace’s friend. She was older than either of them, married, and full in the current of her own life. When Oliver came back to her after all was settled, and made what he believed was a revelation to her of his love and happiness, Mrs. Ford laughed in his face, even while she shared his raptures. ‘Do you think I don’t know all that?’ she said. ‘There never was anything so stupid as a man in love. Why, I have known it for the last eight years, and always looked forward to this day.’ Which, perhaps, was not quite true, and yet was true in a way. For Trix had all along loved Grace for loving her brother, and had seen that, with such a wife, Oliver would be all that could be desired; yet had thought it best policy, on the whole, till Grace came into her fortune, to keep them out of each other’s way. ‘Trix,’ he said very gravely, pulling his moustache, ‘for eight years she has always been the first woman in the world for me.’ At which his sister, which was very unbecoming, continued to laugh. ‘The first, perhaps, dear Noll,’ she said, ‘but we can’t deny, can we, that there have been a few others--secondary? But you may be sure, so far as I am concerned, Grace shall never know a word of that.’ Oliver did not take the matter so lightly. From his rapture of content he dropped into great gravity and walked about the room pulling at his moustache, which was a custom he had when he was thinking. ‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘I should have liked her to know before she took the last step that--that I haven’t been a good fellow, Trix.’ ‘Oliver, I shouldn’t like to hear any one else say so. Tom says’ (this was her husband) ‘that you’ve always been a good fellow in spite of--’ ‘In spite of what?’ ‘Well, in spite of--little indiscretions,’ said Trix, looking her brother in the face, though she coloured as she did so in spite of herself. ‘That means--’ he said, and walked up and down and pulled his moustache more and more. It was a long time before he added, ‘There is nothing that makes a man feel so ashamed of himself, Trix, as to feel that a woman like Grace--if there is anyone like her--’ ‘Oh, nobody, of course!’ said his sister. He gave her a look, half angry, half tender. ‘You are a good woman, too; and to think that two girls like you should take a fellow at your own estimate, and pretend to think that he is a good fellow enough after all: as if that were all that her--her husband ought to be.’