"Who told me? Why, Miss Baker, of course. They were both here for a week after their return." "Here in this house?" "Why shouldn't they be here in this house? Miss Baker is usually here three or four times every year." "Is she?" said George, quite startled by the information. Why on earth had Miss Baker not told him of this? "And what did you think of Caroline?" asked Mr. Bertram. "Think of her?" said George. "Perhaps you did not think anything about her at all. If so, I shall be delighted to punish her vanity by telling her so. She had thought a great deal about you; or, at any rate, she talked as though she had." This surprised George a great deal, and almost made him forgive his uncle the inquiry he had received. "Oh, yes, I did think of her," said he. "I thought of her a little at least." "Oh, a little!" "Well, I mean as much as one does generally think of people one meets--perhaps rather more than of others. She is very handsome and clever, and what I saw of her I liked." "She is a favourite of mine--very much so. Only that you are too young, and have not as yet a shilling to depend on, she might have done for a wife for you." And so saying, he drew the candles to him, took up his newspaper, and was very soon fast asleep. George said nothing further that night to his uncle about Caroline, but he sat longing that the old man might again broach the subject. He was almost angry with himself for not having told his uncle the whole truth; but then he reflected that Caroline had not yet acknowledged that she felt anything like affection for him; and he said to himself, over and over again, that he was sure she would not marry him without loving him for all the rich uncles in Christendom; and yet it was a singular coincidence that he and his uncle should have thought of the same marriage. The next morning he was again more surprised. On coming down to the breakfast-parlour, he found his uncle there before him, walking up and down the room with his hands behind his back. As soon as George had entered, his uncle stopped his walk, and bade him shut the door. "George," said he, "perhaps you are not very often right, either in what you do or what you say; but last night you were right." "Sir!" "Yes, last night you were right. Whatever may have been your father's conduct, you were right to defend it; and, bad as it has been, I was wrong to speak of it as it deserved before you. I will not do so again." "Thank you, sir," said George, his eyes almost full of tears. "That is what I suppose the people in the army call an ample apology. Perhaps, however, it may be made a little more ample." "Sir, sir," said George, not quite understanding him; "pray do not say anything more." "No, I won't, for I have got nothing more to say; only this: Pritchett wants to see you. Be with him at three o'clock to-day."