'Of course! The rich Brian, and the poor Brian, whose histories I have heard almost as often as I heard the story of "Little Red Ridinghood" in my nursery days. Both good-looking, both clever, both young. One a man of landed estate. All Kingthorpe parish belongs to him, does it not?' 'All except the little bit that belongs to papa.' 'And Dr. Rylance's garden and paddock; don't forget that.' 'Could I forget the Rylances? Urania says that although her father has no land at Kingthorpe, he has influence.' 'The other cousin dependent on his talents, and fighting his way at the Bar. Is not that how the story goes, Bess?' 'Yes, darling. I am afraid poor Brian has hardly begun fighting yet. He is only eating his terms. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds rather low.' 'Well, Bess, if I am to marry either of your cousins, it must be the rich one,' said Ida, decisively. 'Oh, Ida, how can you say so? You can't know which you will like best.' 'My likes and dislikes have nothing to do with it. I am going to marry for money.' Miss Rylance had brought her desk to that end of the table where the two girls were sitting, during the latter part of the conversation. It was evening, the hour or so of leisure allowed for the preparation of studies and the writing of home letters. Miss Rylance unlocked her desk, and took out her paper and pens; but, having got so far as this, she seemed rather inclined to join in the conversation than to begin her letter. 'Isn't that rather a worldly idea for your time of life?' she asked, looking at Ida with her usual unfriendly expression. 'No doubt. I should be disgusted if you or Bessie entertained such a notion. But in me it is only natural. I have drained the cup of poverty to the dregs. I thirst for the nectar of wealth. I would marry a soap-boiler, a linseed-crusher, a self-educated navvy who had developed into a great contractor--any plebian creature, always provided that he was an honest man.' 'How condescending!' said Miss Rylance. 'I suppose, Bessie, you know that Miss Pew has especially forbidden us all to indulge in idle talk about courtship and marriage?' 'Quite so,' said Bessie; 'but as old Pew knows that we are human, I've no doubt she is quite aware that this is one of her numerous rules which we diligently set at nought.' Urania began her letter, but although her pen moved swiftly over her paper in that elegant Italian hand which was, as it were, a badge of honour at Mauleverer Manor, her ears were not the less open to the conversation going on close beside her. 'Marry a soap-boiler, indeed!' exclaimed Bessie, indignantly; 'you ought to be a duchess!' 'No doubt, dear, if dukes went about the world, like King Cophetua, on the look out for beggar-maids.' 'I am so happy to think you are coming to Kingthorpe! It is the dearest old place. We shall be so happy!'