"I reopen this to write an essential word:--The name of the gentleman I have alluded to! You may form some conception of the pressure on my brain from my having omitted to do so before. He is a Mr. Bragg--a man of very large wealth, and received everywhere. I know that my uncle has more than once received him at Combe Park. And he would, I dare say, have got some chaperon there, and had May down for a time; but, of course, under the bereavement we have all just suffered in the death of my cousin George, this cannot be at present. But there surely must be, among the better families in Oldchester, some whom Mr. Bragg visits? Possibly the bishop, if he is there; or, perhaps the dean? I know Lady Mary slightly. Pray lose no time, my dear Mrs. Dobbs, in ascertaining this." Mrs. Dobbs pondered long after reading this epistle. In May's absence she often turned over in her mind the advantages of an alliance with Mr. Bragg; remembered favourable precedents; and taught herself to think that it might be. The sight of the girl's face, and the sound of her voice, were apt to scatter these fancies as sunrise scatters the mists. But they returned when May disappeared again, and haunted all the old woman's lonely hours. One morning, after an evening spent at Garnet Lodge, when Mrs. Dobbs was alone with her grandchild, and was meditating how she should approach the subject chiefly in her thoughts, May unexpectedly began-- "Granny, do you know I have something to say that will surprise you." "Have you, May? Nothing ought to surprise me at seventy odd. But, somehow, things do surprise me still." "Of course they do, granny! I think it is only blockheads who are never astonished, because one thing is much the same to them as another." "Well, I'm glad I can prove myself no blockhead at such an easy rate. What is your surprise about, May?" "It's about--Mr. Bragg." The colour came into May's cheeks as she looked up with a bright, shy glance from her favourite low seat beside granny's knee. But it was nothing to the deep, sudden flush which dyed Mrs. Dobbs's face. She looked at her grandchild almost vacantly for a moment, and then grew paler than before. But May did not observe all this. She sat smiling to herself, with the colour varying in her face, as it so easily did on the very slightest emotion, her hands clasped round her knees, and her bright head bent down, as she continued-- "I have had my suspicions for some time past; but I said nothing until last night. Then, when I went into Clara's room to put my hat on, I just gave her a tiny hint; and she said very likely I was right, and did not laugh at me a bit. But I dare say you will laugh at me, granny." "Let us hear, my lass," said Mrs. Dobbs, moistening her lips, which felt parched. "Well--_I_ think that Mr. Bragg has a motive in coming so often to Garnet Lodge." "I suppose he has."