“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Farnaby, carelessly. “She is devoted to me, of course--she is the living consolation I told you of just now. That was Mr. Farnaby’s notion in adopting her. Mr. Farnaby thought to himself, ‘Here’s a ready-made daughter for my wife--that’s all this tiresome woman wants to comfort her: now we shall do.’ Do you know what I call that? I call it reasoning like an idiot. A man may be very clever at his business--and may be a contemptible fool in other respects. Another woman’s child a consolation to _me!_ Pah! it makes me sick to think of it. I have one merit, Amelius, I don’t cant. It’s my duty to take care of my sister’s child; and I do my duty willingly. Regina’s a good sort of creature--I don’t dispute it. But she’s like all those tall darkish women: there’s no backbone in her, no dash; a kind, feeble, goody-goody, sugarish disposition; and a deal of quiet obstinacy at the bottom of it, I can tell you. Oh yes, I do her justice; I don’t deny that she’s devoted to me, as you say. But I am making a clean breast of it now. And you ought to know, and you shall know, that Mr. Farnaby’s living consolation is no more a consolation to me than the things you have seen in the drawers. There! now we’ve done with Regina. No: there’s one thing more to be cleared up. When you say you admire her, what do you mean? Do you mean to marry her?” For once in his life Amelius stood on his dignity. “I have too much respect for the young lady to answer your question,” he said loftily. “Because, if you do,” Mrs. Farnaby proceeded, “I mean to put every possible obstacle in your way. In short, I mean to prevent it.” This plain declaration staggered Amelius. He confessed the truth by implication in one word. “Why?” he asked sharply. “Wait a little, and recover your temper,” she answered. There was a pause. They sat, on either side of the fireplace, and eyed each other attentively. “Now are you ready?” Mrs. Farnaby resumed. “Here is my reason. If you marry Regina, or marry anybody, you will settle down somewhere, and lead a dull life.” “Well,” said Amelius; “and why not, if I like it?” “Because I want you to remain a roving bachelor; here today and gone tomorrow--travelling all over the world, and seeing everything and everybody.” “What good will that do to _you,_ Mrs. Farnaby?” She rose from her own side of the fireplace, crossed to the side on which Amelius was sitting, and, standing before him, placed her hands heavily on his shoulders. Her eyes grew radiant with a sudden interest and animation as they looked down on him, riveted on his face. “I am still waiting, my friend, for the living consolation that may yet come to me,” she said. “And, hear this, Amelius! After all the years that have passed, you may be the man who brings it to me.” In the momentary silence that followed, they heard a double knock at the house-door. “Regina!” said Mrs. Farnaby.