“I suppose that is what I must do; I don't know if I shall succeed, but I will try to get them to come up to London and have medical advice. Since the death of poor Julia I have been all alone; my position is a very hard one. I have no one to talk to, to assist me, to take my place in any way. I am obliged to go to London every day, and I assure you my heart is all of a flutter in the morning when I take the train, for I don't know what may happen before I return. The girls can do what they like; they are mistresses of this big house, they take the carriage into Brighton when they like, Sally takes the cart. I have thought of getting rid of that cart.” Although passionately fond of talking, Aunt Mary would with patience, and even with pleasure, cross her hands and settle herself down to listen to one of Uncle James's interminable lamentations, but Aunt Hester, a nervous and timid creature who talked but little, not only declared that she could not bear to hear the same stories over and over again, but interrupted her brother with firmness and determination. Indeed, it was only on occasion of Uncle James's soliloquies that she had ever shown any strength of will. “We know very well, James, that your position is a trying one--that since the death of poor Julia you have no one whom you can look to. There is no use in telling us this over again; it is mere waste of time. What we have to do now is by all means in our power to convince dear Sally of the sinfulness of her conduct, and so strive to bring her back to a state of grace.” “Her spirit must be broken, she must be subdued,” interjected Aunt Mary. “Christ is the real healer, prayer is the true medicine, and by it alone is the troubled spirit soothed.” It being impossible to contravene these opinions, the conversation came to a pause, which was at length interrupted by Mr. Brookes, who through the folds of his handkerchief declared again that it would be all the same a hundred years hence. Even Aunt Mary's realism did not offend Aunt Hester as did this un-Christian philosophy; she gathered her strength for a grave reproof, but was cut short by her sister's laughter. All the teeth were glittering now, and peal after peal of laughter came. Aunt Hester's courage died, and her long, freckled face drooped like a sad flower. “Now let us hear something about Grace. What about this marriage? Is Berkins as amorous as ever? That man does amuse me--his waistcoat buttons are better than any other man's.” “Mary, Mary, I beg of you to remember Mr. Berkins is a man of eight thousand a-year.” “He may make eight thousand a-year, but he has very little money invested,” said Aunt Mary. “That is true,” Mr. Brookes replied reflectively, and he was about to rush off into a long financial statement when his sister, who already regretted her joke, checked him with an abrupt question. “My dear James, is this marriage to be or not to be? That is what I want to know.”