Mr. Cardew was quite silent for a full minute after his wife had made this suggestion. To tell the truth, she had done a somewhat extraordinary thing. Amongst this great lady's many rich possessions was a splendid mansion in Grosvenor Street; but, as she hated what is called London society, it had long been let to different tenants, for nothing would induce the Cardews to leave their delightful home, with its fresh air and country pursuits, for the dingy old house in town. They knew that when the girls came out--a far-distant date as yet--they would have to occupy the house in Grosvenor Street for the season; but Mrs. Cardew's suggestion that they should go there almost immediately for the sake of their daughters' education was more annoying to her husband than he could possibly endure. "I consider the rector very officious," he said. "Nothing would induce me to live in town." "I thought you would feel like that, dear. I was certain of it." "You surely would not wish it yourself, Sylvia?" "I should detest it beyond words," she replied. "Besides, the house is occupied," said Mr. Cardew, catching at any excuse not to carry out this abominable plan, as he termed it. "Well, dear, at the present moment it is not. I had a letter a week ago from our agent to ask if he should relet it for the winter and next season, and I have not yet replied to him." "Nonsense, nonsense, Sylvia! We cannot go to live there." "I don't wish it, my love." The pair sat quite silent after Mrs. Cardew had made this last remark. After a time her husband said, "We're really placed in a very cruel dilemma; but doubtless there are schools and schools. Now, I feel that the time has arrived when I ought to tell you about Merry." "What about the dear child?" asked her mother. "Isn't she well?" "Absolutely and perfectly well, but our dear little girl is consumed by the fever of discontent." "My dear, you must be mistaken." "I am not. Listen, and I will tell you what has happened." Mr. Cardew then related his brief interview with Merry, and Merry's passionate desire to go to Aylmer House. "And what did you say to her, love?" asked his wife. "I told her it was impossible, of course." "But it really isn't, dear, you know," said Mrs. Cardew in a low tone; "and as you cannot make up your mind to live in London, those two vacancies at Aylmer House seem providential." At these words Mr. Cardew sprang to his feet. "Nothing will ever shake my opinion with regard to school-life," he said. "And yet the life in town----" "That is impossible. Look me straight in the face, Sylvia. If by any chance--don't, please, imagine that I'm giving way--but if, by any possible chance, I were to yield, could you, my darling, live without your girls?" "With you--I could," she answered, and she held out her hand to him, which he raised to his lips and kissed.