"Mr. Compton," said Mrs. Dennistoun, solemnly, "I don't understand very well what you mean by these phrases. They may be much more innocent than they seem to a country lady's ears. But I implore you to keep my Elinor clear of anything that you call going the pace. It must mean something very unlike her, whatever it means. She has been used to a very quiet, orderly life. Don't hurry her off into a whirl of society, or among noisy gay people. Indeed I can assure you that the more you have her to herself the more you will be happy in her. She is the brightest companion, the most entertaining---- Oh, Mr. Compton!" "I think it's about time, now, mater, to call me Phil." She smiled, with the tears in her eyes, and held out her hand. "Philip, then," she said, "to make a little difference. Now remember what I say. It is only in the sacredness of her home that you will know what is in Elinor. One is never dull with her. She has her own opinions--her bright way of looking at things--as you know. It is, perhaps, a strange thing for a mother to say, but she will amuse you, Philip; she is such company. You will never be dull with Elinor: she has so much in her, which will come out in society, it is true, but never so brightly as between you two alone." This did not seem to have quite the effect upon the almost-bridegroom which the mother intended. "Perhaps" (she said to herself), "he was a little affected by the thought" (which she kept so completely out of the conversation) "of the loss she herself was about to undergo." At all events, his face was not so bright as in the vision of that sweet prospect held before him it ought to have been. "The fact is," he said, "she knows a great deal more than I do, or ever will. It's she that will be the one to look blue when she finds herself alone with a fool of a follow that doesn't know a book from a brick. That's the thing I'm most afraid---- As for society, she can have her pick of that," he added, brightening up, "I'll not bind her down." "You may be sure she'll prefer you to all the world." He shrugged his shoulders a little. "They say it's always a leap in the dark," he said, "for how's she to know the sort of fellow I am with what she sees of me here? But I promise you I'll do my best to take her in, and keep her in that delusion, for her good--making believe to be all that's virtuous: and perhaps not a bad way--some of it may stick. Come, mater, don't look so horrified. I'm not of the Cousin John sort, but there may be something decent in me after all." "I am sure," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "that you will try to make her happy, Philip." She was crying by this time, which was a thing very odious to Phil. He took her by both hands and gave her a hearty kiss, which was a thing for which she was not at all prepared. "I'll do by her----" he said, with a murmur which sounded like an oath, "as well as I know how."