Maria Kettle returned from Leamington in mourning. Mrs. Page was dead, and had left Maria two thousand pounds. "Better than nothing of course," grumbled the Vicar; "but she might just as well have made it three or four thousand while she was about it." He had always thought she would. Maria was truly glad to get back home again, and she told nobody about her little fortune. She and Ella met like sisters who had been long parted. What a number of things they had to say to each other, yet each shrank from speaking of that which lay closest to their hearts. Maria said nothing about her semi-engagement to Philip Cleeve, while Ella did not mention Edward Conroy. It seemed such a little while ago since they were mutually affirming that they would never marry--or at least not for many years to come; and yet, after all their grand resolutions, when put to the test, they had proved no stronger minded than the rest of their sex. Each felt slightly ashamed to think of all this; yet, strange to say, neither of them would have exchanged her present bondage for that past freedom. But a great blow was about to fall on Maria. The more the Reverend Mr. Kettle puzzled over the loss of his purse, the more inclined he was to connect Philip Cleeve with it in some way. He did not absolutely say to himself that Philip had taken the purse, but it was strange how the young man's image always came into his mind in connection with the loss. It may be that he owed this feeling to Dr. Downes. He and Dr. Downes, being fellow-sufferers, for the Doctor had never heard more of his gold snuffbox, had got into the habit of talking with one another. Talking begets talking, and perhaps the old Doctor said more than he had meant to say. Anyway, one day the Vicar heard for the first time about Philip's frequent visits to the billiard-room of the Rose and Crown, and about the high play with Lord Camberley and others that went on at The Lilacs. "What a young idiot he must be!" exclaimed the indignant Vicar: and Dr. Downes nodded assent. "And if there's anything between Cleeve and your daughter, as I fancy there is," added the old man, "I should put my veto on it--at least for the present. Master Philip has fallen into bad ways, that's quite evident; and even if these ugly suspicions about him should turn out to have no foundation in fact, he ought to alter very much before he is fit to marry so nice a girl as Maria." The Vicar ruffled his white hair with his fingers, and could not help admitting that the Doctor's view was the right one. There had been a sort of tacit agreement between himself and Lady Cleeve that one day the two young people should marry, provided they cared sufficiently for each other: and--and he believed they did care. It grieved him to see his old friend's son going so far astray; but his duty to his daughter was paramount, and other considerations must give way to it.