guess! and me talking about Mrs Singer’s baby! Why, I suppose it is one of the greatest families in the country,” Mrs Marston said. “There is no doubt about that,” said the Rector. “I have heard the present Duke was not rich, but that would make it all the worse. Poor young lady! poor misguided--for of course she can know nothing about life nor what she is doing. And I wonder who the man is. He must be a scoundrel,” said Mr Marston, hotly, “to take advantage of the ignorance of a girl.” “My dear,” said Mrs Marston, “all that may be quite true that you say, but if you reckon up you will see that she must be twenty-eight. Twenty-eight is not such a girl. And Reginald Winton is quite a nice name.” “Just the sort of name for a tutor, or a music-master, or something of that sort,” said the Rector, contemptuously. He had been a tutor himself in his day, but that did not occur to him at the moment. He got up from his chair and would have paced about the room as he did in his wife’s quarters had the study been big enough; but failing in this, he planted himself before the fire, to the great danger of his coat-tails and increase of his temperature, but in his excitement he paid no attention to that. “And now the question is, what is to be done?” he said. “I thought you told me there was nothing to be done. I shall come to church myself to-morrow, William, and if you think I could speak to the poor young lady----: perhaps if she had a woman to talk to--most likely she has no mother. That’s such an old book, one can’t tell; but I don’t think a girl would do this who had a mother. Poor thing! Do you think if I were there a little before the hour and were to talk to her, and try to get into her confidence, and say how wrong it was----” “Talk to a bride at the altar!” said the Rector; the indecorum of the idea shocked him beyond description. “No, no, something must be done at once--there is no time to be lost. I must write to the Duke.” “To the Duke!” This suggestion took away Mrs Marston’s breath. “I hope,” said her husband, raising his head, “that we both know a duke is but a man: and I am a clergyman, and I want nothing from him, but to do him a service. It would be wicked to hesitate. The question is, where is he to be found, and how can we reach him in time? He is not likely to be in town at this time of the year; nobody is in town I suppose except you and me, and a few millions more, Mary; but that doesn’t help us--the question is, where is he likely to be? Thank heaven there is still time for the post!” Mr Marston cried, and threw himself upon his chair, and pulled his best note-paper out of his drawer.