If the past night had been an uneasy one to Dr. Downes, it had also been one to Maria Kettle. Not from the same cause. Divest herself of a doubtful feeling with regard to Philip she could not. That he had not stability, that he was led away by any folly that crossed his path, and that--as Dr. Downes had but now put it--he had at present little prospect of making himself a home--a home to which he could take a wife--Maria was only too conscious of. _She_ had a vast amount of common, sober sense; and in that respect was a very contrast to Philip. Maria herself would have waited for Philip for ever and a day, and never lost hope; but she, after this sleepless night was passed, had very nearly concluded that there ought to be no engagement between them; that it might be better for Philip's own sake he should not be hampered. It was rather singular that these words should have been spoken by Dr. Downes so soon afterwards as if to confirm her in her resolution. In the afternoon, between three and four o'clock, when the Vicar had gone up to Heron Dyke, Philip made his appearance at the Vicarage. He had been sent away on business for the office early in the day, and had but now got back. Maria met him with a pretty blush, and held out her hand, as the servant closed the door; but Philip drew her to him and kissed her, sat down by her side on the sofa, and stole his arm round her waist. Maria gently put it away. "Philip," she said, "we were both, I fear, thoughtlessly rash last night." "In what way?" asked Philip, possessing himself of her hand, as it seemed he was not to have her waist. "Oh--you know. In what you said and I--I listened to. I think we must wait a little, Philip: another year or so. It will be best." "Wait for what? What is running in your head, Maria?" "Until our prospects shall be a little more assured. Forgive me, Philip, but I mean it; I am quite serious. In a year's time from this, if you so will it, we can speak of it again." "Do you mean to say there must be no engagement between us?" fired Philip. "There had better not be. Neither of us at present has any chance of carrying it out." "Oh," commented Philip, who was getting angry. "Perhaps you will point out what you do mean, Maria. I can see no meaning in it." The tears rose to Maria's eyes. "Philip dear, don't be vexed with me: I speak for your sake more than for my own. At present you have no home to take a wife to, no expectation of making one----" "But I have," interrupted Philip. "Old Tiplady intends to take me into partnership." "Well--I hope he will: but still that lies in the future. Your mother, I feel sure, would not like to see you hamper yourself with a wife until you are quite justified in doing it. And then, on my side--how can I marry? It is scarcely possible for me to leave papa. And all the parish duties that I have made mine; the visiting and the schools----" Maria broke down with a sob.