“I really can't say, Mary; Sally has contrived to upset her sister; she would have been, I feel sure, glad to marry Mr. Berkins if she had not been upset by Sally.” “Upset by Sally, what do you mean?” “I told you that Sally tries to turn Berkins into ridicule, laughs at his beard among other things.” “I must see Grace about this,” said Aunt Mary; “you must excuse my laughing, but Sally is often very droll.” Choosing the first occasion when Maggie and Sally were absent from the room, Aunt Mary said, “Come, Gracie, dear, tell me about this marriage. I hear that your mind is not made up--that you are not at all decided. This is not acting fairly towards your father. You are placing him in a very false position.” “I don't think so, aunty. No one, so far as I can make out, is either decided or satisfied. Mr. Berkins is not satisfied with the society we see.” “The Southdown Road you mean,” interrupted Mr. Brookes, “and very properly, too.” “And father and he cannot agree upon money matters, and I don't like a beard--” “You never objected to a beard until Sally put you against it.” “Yes, I did, father; I always told you--” “Never mind the beard, tell me about the money matters that your father and Mr. Berkins can't agree upon.” “Mr. Berkins has offered to settle twelve thousand pounds upon me if father will settle the same amount. But father won't agree to this; he wants Mr. Berkins to settle twelve, but does not want to settle more than seven himself upon me.” “Is this so, James?” asked Aunt Mary. Mr. Brookes avoided answering the question, and entered into a long and garrulous statement concerning himself and his money: he had made it all himself! he spoke of his investments with pride, and pathetically declared that he would not marry again because he would not deprive his dear children of anything. Aunt Mary crossed her hands over her shawl, and set herself to listen to the old gentleman's rigmarole. Aunt Hester tried several times to cut him short, but this time he would not be silenced. Then Aunt Mary started the story of a girl whom she had known intimately in early life, which she no doubt thought would help Grace to a better comprehension of her difficulties; but the dear lady lost herself in the domestic entanglement of many families, on the subject of which she contributed much curious information, without, however, elucidating the matter in hand. She wandered so far that at length all hope of return became impossible, and she was obliged to pull up suddenly and ask what she had been talking about. “What was I talking about, James; you have been listening to me--what was I talking about?” Mr. Brookes made no attempt to give the information necessary for the blending of her many narratives, and she was forced to seek unaided for the lost thread. Soon after the girls came in with their gin and water. They drank their grog, kissed their relations, and retired to bed.