"Ah, Wolff," said the old lord with a look at the great portrait of Barbara Chudleigh, "there are some women who don't even respect doctors of philosophy." CHAPTER IX. ANASTATIA'S COURTSHIP. The Reverend John Dodd drew back one morning from the breakfast-table with the air of a giant refreshed; his wife stared at him over the silver breakfast-kettle as she had stared at him for the last twenty years. For the last twenty years Mrs. Dodd had wondered at the plenteousness of her husband's breakfasts; she was astonished twenty years ago, and she still stared, an awed woman to the present day. "John," she said, in a severe tone, "it is my duty." Whenever Mrs. Dodd differed from her husband she nailed her colours to the mast; she said it was her duty, and she invariably carried her point. "It's dogged as does it," is not only the maxim of agricultural labourers in remote country districts. It is the secret of success in every married lady's life; it is the talisman confided to the young wife by her more experienced mother, if she have one, if not her aunt tells her the secret, and it comes to the same thing. "Well, my dear, if you look upon it in that light there is no more to be said," acquiesced the husband. "It is my duty, and yours too, John; above all it is Anastatia's. What can cement the natural alliance between the squire and the vicar of the parish, more strongly than the former's union with that vicar's sister? Besides, I have another reason. It is our bounden duty, Jack," here the vicar's wife relapsed into familiarity, as she always did when she meant to carry her point, "our bounden duty to rescue the squire from that designing woman." "Good gracious, Cecilia, who is Anastatia's rival?" "You may not have seen it, John, but I have observed it ever since the girls have been away. Miss Hood means to marry the old man!" This latter sentence was uttered in a sepulchral whisper. "Nonsense, Cecilia, you're joking." "Do I ever talk nonsense or joke, Mr. Dodd?" answered the wife in a judicial tone. "Well, my dear," apologetically rejoined the vicar, "I don't think I ever remember your doing the latter," and he felt much as an unfortunate man would feel who had dared to accuse the Lord Chancellor himself of joking and talking nonsense. "There can't be a doubt of it. Ever since those girls have gone Miss Hood has called here in The Warren brougham, never on foot or in the pony chair." "But, my dear, the weather has been wet and cold." "'Tis not the weather, John, it is that woman's arrogance, her way of preparing the minds of the neighbourhood for the catastrophe." "Diggory Warrender, my dear, is no more thinking of marrying again than I am," said the vicar. "The thought of marrying again, Mr. Dodd," retorted his wife severely, "is constantly occurring to the mind of every married man." "I assure you it never occurred to mine, my dear." "John, you're ungrateful," replied his wife, and burst into tears.