Mrs. Mornington was not to be put down. She went on talking of frocks, though one of the daughters of the house carried Suzette off to the garden--an act of real Christian charity, if she had not spoilt her good work by beginning to talk of Suzette's lover. "I can quite fancy your aunt must be rather boring sometimes," she said. "But _do_ tell me about Mr. Carew. I thought him so nice the other day at the flower-show, when you introduced him to me." "What can I tell you about him? You have seen him--and I am glad you thought him nice." "Yes; but one wants to know more. One wants to know what he is like--from your point of view." "But how could you see him from my point of view? That's impossible." "True! A casual acquaintance could never see him as he appears to you--to whom he is all the world," said the Canon's daughter, who was young and romantic, having lived upon church music and Coventry Patmore's poetry. "There's my aunt showing them patterns of my frocks!" exclaimed Suzette, irritably, glancing in at the drawing-room, where Mrs. Mornington sat, the centre of a little group, handing scraps of stuff out of her reticule. The scraps were being passed round and peered at and pulled about by everybody, with a meditative and admiring air. An African savage, seeing the group, would have supposed that some act of sortilege was being performed. "It is rather an ordeal being married," said the Canon's daughter, thinking sadly of a certain undergraduate who was down-hearted about his divinity exam., and upon whose achieving deacon's orders within a reasonable time depended the young lady's matrimonial prospects. She sighed as she thought of the difference in worldly wealth between that well-meaning youth and Allan Carew; and yet here was the future Mrs. Carew pale and worried, and obviously dissatisfied with her lot. * * * * * When those gowns had been ordered, Suzette felt as if it were another link forged in the iron chain which seemed to weigh heavier upon her every day of her life. She had promised, and she must keep her promise. That was what she was continually saying to herself. Those words were woven into all her thoughts. Allan was so good, so true-hearted! Could she disappoint and grieve him? Could she be heartless, unkind, selfish--think of herself first and of him after--snatch at the happiness Fate offered her, and leave him out in the cold? No, better that she should bear her lot--become his wife, live out her slow, melancholy days, his faithful servant and friend, honouring him and obeying him, doing all that woman can do for man, except loving him.