Dr. Somers laughed; Mr. Fazakerley chuckled, interrupting the young man’s speech; but Mr. Fielding, who was of a gentler nature, peered at him through his short-sighted old eyes with kindly sympathy. “Edgar, I think you are quite right,” he said. “We all talk about women in a most unjustifiable way. The Miss Thornleighs are very nice girls, and never gave any one reason to speak of them without respect--nor their mother either, that I know of; but we all talk as if they were put up to auction, and you might buy which you please. You are quite right.” “I do not know whether I am right or not,” said Edgar, with some vehemence; “but I know I should punch any man’s head who spoke so of Clare.” “Clare! Ah, that’s different,” said the Doctor; “where Clare is concerned, I give you full leave to punch anybody’s head----” “Miss Clare is an heiress,” said Mr. Fazakerley. “She is as great a prize in the matrimonial market as her brother. If I took the liberty to speak on such a subject at all, I should represent her, not as the huntress, but the hunted. Penniless girls are in a very different position; and why should we blame them? It is their natural way of providing for themselves, after all.” “Then, money is everything,” said Edgar, “and to provide for one’s self one’s first duty. I have not been very well brought up, you know, but I thought I had heard something better than that.” “Don’t be too severely virtuous, my boy,” the Doctor said, pushing back his chair. “You may be sure that, from the savage to the swell (two classes not so far apart), to provide for one’s self is one’s highest duty. Love, &c., are very nice things, but your living comes first of all. Now, come, we are getting metaphysical; let us join Clare.” CHAPTER IX. “Tell me something about the Thornleighs,” Edgar said on the morning of the day they were to dine at Thorne. “I like to know what sort of people I am about to make acquaintance with. Are they friends of yours, Clare?” “Pretty well,” Clare answered, with just that little elevation of her head which Edgar began to know. “What is the use of describing them when you will see them to-night, and then judge for yourself? Ada is nice. She is the eldest of all, and she talks very little. I like her for that. Gussy is short, with heaps of light hair; and Helena is very tall, and rather dark, like her father. They are not at all like each other--not much more like each other than you and me.” “That is a consolation,” said Edgar, with a smile. “Not so much as you think, for they are like in their ways; and then you can tell in a moment which side of the house they belong to,” said Clare, with a shade crossing her face. “Whereas, Edgar--don’t be vexed with me for saying so--but you are not even--like mamma.” “How do you know?” said Edgar, a little sharply; for that he was like his mother had been one of the established principles of his life.