That Mr. Duberly was not wholly without his misgivings on the score of the young aristocrat on whom his daughter’s maiden affections were fixed was evidenced by the fact that “nothing was left,” as the saying is, in Arthur’s “power.” The allowance that “old Dub” made to his future heiress was liberal to profuseness; and Arthur himself, had he desired such an indulgence, might have had his path paved with gold, provided always that he, the retired Manchester man, was perfectly _au courant_ of how the money was disposed of, and that his dearly-beloved Sophy trod the same brilliant way, side by side and lovingly with the partner of her life. More than this, however, for his son-in-law at least, old Dub was never likely to do. To have his penny-worth for his penny, to keep his accounts regularly and systematically, were, in his opinion, among the first duties of man; and any _known_ neglect of these duties by his daughter’s husband would have annoyed and disquieted him. Well aware of this “absurdity,” as he considered it, on the part of his father-in-law, Arthur had for some short time after his marriage gone through certain minor forms calculated to convey the impression that he was a “business man.” A room, called by courtesy his study, had been devoted to his use; and a book dignified by the title of an “account-book” was disfigured by certain scrawling entries in Arthur’s large illegible hand, and was supposed to contain a record of Mr. Vavasour’s daily expenditure. Happily for him, old Duberly had hitherto either taken his business talents for granted, or, like many other good-natured, as well as slightly indolent people, had shrunk from discoveries which might only tend to his own discomfort, and the possible unhappiness of his child. Sophy--the darling of his age, and the sunshine of his luxurious home--was blithe and joyous as a bird which has just found its mate; and this being so, why was he to disturb her from her security, and fill her unsuspecting mind with doubts and fears which never might be realised? As long as Sophy, who was a very _girl_ still in simplicity and buoyant spirits, went singing about the house (a little heavy in step now, poor thing, for she was very near to her hour of pain and travail), old Duberly was well content to let everything remain as it was, and to hope the best regarding his young and outwardly very likeable son-in-law. That there was any _great_ harm in one who seemed so frank, and who was too young as well as too well-born (the Manchester man thought a great deal of birth) to have had either much opportunity or much temptation to sin, Mr. Duberly never for a moment suspected; but in spite of this trust, and gladly as he would have entirely confided in his daughter’s husband, there lingered, almost unknown to himself, a grain--the very shadow of a shade it was--of doubt; a doubt born of the former visits of Arthur Vavasour to the Paddocks, where lived the most beautiful woman that Mr.