‘But, after all, William, say what you will--and you always do say the most unpleasant things you can think of--it was a great success. I know the Leyburns enjoyed it. And as for Robert, I saw him _looking_--_looking_--at that little minx Rose while she was playing as if he couldn’t take his eyes off her. What a picture she made, to be sure!’ The vicar, who had been standing with his back to fireplace and his hands in his pockets, received his wife’s remarks first of all with lifted eyebrows, and then with a low chuckle, half scornful, half compassionate, which made her start in her chair. ‘Rose?’ he said, impatiently. ‘Rose, my dear, where were your eyes?’ It was very rarely indeed, that on her own ground, so to speak, the vicar ventured to take the whip-hand of her like this. Mrs. Thornburgh looked at him in amazement. ‘Do you mean to say,’ he asked, in raised tones, ‘that you didn’t notice that from the moment you first introduced Robert to Catherine Leyburn, he had practically no attention for anybody else?’ Mrs. Thornburgh gazed at him--her memory flew back over the evening-and her impulsive contradiction died on her lips. It was now her turn to ejaculate-- ‘Catherine!’ she said feebly. ‘Catherine! how absurd!’ But she turned and, with quickened breath, looked out of the window after the retreating figures. Mrs. Thornburgh went up to bed that night an inch taller. She had never felt herself more exquisitely indispensable, more of a personage. CHAPTER IV. Before, however, we go on to chronicle the ultimate success or failure of Mrs. Thornburgh as a match-maker, it may be well to inquire a little more closely into the antecedents of the man who had suddenly roused so much activity in her contriving mind. And, indeed, these antecedents are important to us. For the interest of an uncomplicated story will entirely depend upon the clearness with which the reader may have grasped the general outlines of a quick soul’s development. And this development had already made considerable progress before Mrs. Thornburgh set eyes upon her husband’s cousin, Robert Elsmere. Robert Elsmere, then, was well born and fairly well provided with this world’s goods; up to a certain moderate point, indeed, a favorite of fortune in all respects. His father belonged to the younger line of an old Sussex family, and owed his pleasant country living to the family instincts of his uncle, Sir William Elsmere, in whom Whig doctrines and Conservative traditions were pretty evenly mixed, with a result of the usual respectable and inconspicuous kind. His virtues had descended mostly to his daughters, while all his various weaknesses and fatuities had blossomed into vices in the person of his eldest son and heir, the Sir Mowbray Elsmere of Mrs. Seaton’s early recollections.