She was realising his good social position; the absence with him of family mysteries and undesirable relatives. The difference brought a feeling of repose. No odd second-rate mother-in-law here!—if ever things came to that point. No vulgar, unbearable sister-in-law! A trifle too much of self-assertion, no doubt; and rather too great a love of improving and instructing others. But everybody has his faults. And whatever Hamilton's faults might be, he was refined, well-connected, with finished courtesy of manner. Nothing in him would ever shock her sense of what was correct, though a good deal might try her patience. She did not say all this to herself definitely; but half-formed comparisons floated through her mind. He was not Dick!—her dear Dick! A sharp pang shot through her with the name. But if Dick were impossible—utterly impossible!—must she also refuse Hamilton, who cared for her, who was good and kind, true and clever, who—taken as a whole—would be a not undesirable husband? If she could not have the best, might she not be content with the second-best? Hamilton Stirling—to be reckoned second-best!! She laughed quietly to herself at the idea. But she liked his Stirling calm; his repose of bearing; his polish; his assurance. When she recalled Mrs. Morris and Jane, she positively basked in the aristocratic Stirling atmosphere. With the coming of night, of darkness and solitude, a sharp reaction followed; and she hid her face in the pillow, with stifled sobbing gasps for—"Dick! Dick!"—and a feeling that she must almost die with longing for those grey eyes, those strong brown hands, that passionate enfolding devotion. Yet, when once asleep, she slept soundly; and with early sunlight there was a reverse swing of the pendulum, as she grasped anew the hopelessness of that, the possibilities of this. Hamilton had made up his mind at last. He was plainly resolved for once not to let the grass grow under his feet. He came again and again to the Rectory. He brought flowers, fruit, proof-sheets, and— geological specimens! Doris's reception of him and his offerings varied, as of old. Sometimes she was submissively sweet. Sometimes she contradicted and laughed at him. Sometimes she was dignified and indifferent. Sometimes she felt that she never, never could, never, never would, marry any man living except Dick Maurice. Sometimes she felt that in the future— not too soon!—Hamilton might really do quite nicely. Though she did not know her own mind, she knew her mother's mind. Every power that Mrs. Winton possessed was bent to the furtherance of Hamilton's suit. For she and her husband were definitely aware of that which most people only conjectured, or had heard as a matter of report, that Lynnthorpe was strictly entailed upon the next male heir. Katherine would have her mother's money; an ample supply; but Hamilton stood in the position of "next male heir." Which meant that his wife would be the future mistress of the place.