This unfortunate quarrel indeed did him great injury by throwing him into the arms of the party which his own pleasure and taste led him to prefer. He did not demur when Mrs. Hammond—meaning little evil, but expressing prejudices which at one time she had sedulously cultivated (for when one lives near the town one must take especial care not to be confounded with it)—talked of a set of butchers and bakers, and said, much more strongly than he had, that Mr. Bonamy must be kept in his place. A little quarrel with the lawyer, a little social relaxation in which the young fellow had lost sight of the excellent intentions with which he had set out, then this final quarrel—such had been the course of events; sufficient, taken with his own fastidiousness and inexperience, to bring him to this. Mrs. Hammond, standing at the drawing-room window, watched him as he walked down the short drive. “I like that young man,” she said decisively. “He is thrown away upon those people.” Laura, who had not gone to the schools, yawned. “He has not one-half the brains of some one else we know, mother,” she answered. “Who is that?” Laura did not reply; and probably her mother understood, for she did not press the question. “Well,” Mrs. Hammond said, after a moment’s silence, “perhaps he has not. I do not know. But at any rate he is a gentleman from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes.” “I dare say he is,” said Laura languidly. Mrs. Hammond, depositing her own portly form in a suitable chair, watched her daughter curiously. She would have given a good deal to be able to read the girl’s mind and learn her intentions; but she was too wise to ask questions, and had always given Laura the fullest liberty. She had watched the growth of the intimacy between her and Mr. Clode without demur, feeling a strong liking for the man herself, though she scarcely thought him a suitable match for her daughter. On the old rector’s death there had seemed for a few days a chance of Mr. Clode being appointed his successor; and at that time Mrs. Hammond had fancied she detected a shade of anxiety and excitement in her daughter’s manner. But Mr. Clode had not been appointed, and the new rector had come; and Laura had apparently transferred her favor from the curate to him. At this Mrs. Hammond had felt somewhat troubled—at first; but in a short time she had naturally reconciled herself to the change, the rector’s superiority as a _parti_ being indisputable. Yet still Mrs. Hammond felt no certainty as to Laura’s real feelings, and, gazing at her this afternoon, was as much in the dark as ever. That the girl was fond of her she knew; indeed, it was quite a pretty sight to see the daughter purring about the mother. But Mrs. Hammond was more than half inclined to doubt now whether Laura was fond, or capable of being fond, of any other human being except herself.