Mrs. Somerton had a great objection to Mr. Phillips. “I don’t think his continually lurking about here bodes any good to those girls,” she said to her husband, over tea, as Mr. Phillips passed by with his sketch book under his arm. “Nonsense,” said Mr. Somerton, laughing. “You don’t think either of the girls will fall in love with an undersized whipper-snapper like Mr. Phillips?” “There’s no knowing what poor silly women will fall in love with,” said Mrs. Somerton, with a sneer. “No, nor men either, for the matter of that, dame, if you want to argue the point,” Luke replied, defiantly. Mrs. Somerton, thus challenged, declined to pick up the gauntlet which she had so often before accepted. She was bent upon talking about Mr. Arthur Phillips. “I don’t think Amy would be fool enough to be led away by his poetry and pictures, and fine speeches and things; but Miss Tallant’s soft enough for anything, and I wonder Mr. Tallant has that fellow continually about the place.” “God bless us!” said Mr. Somerton, his honest face lighting up with a genial smile of amusement; “why, do you think Miss Tallant, with her beautiful face, and her equally beautiful dowry, is going to throw herself away upon poor little Phillips?” “Why not? He writes poetry, and paints all sorts of nonsense, and talks like lackadaisical lovers talk in books; and I’m sure that’s the sort of thing that Miss Tallant’s flashy education has taught her to admire. Why didn’t her father let her go into London society? Why doesn’t she go to town for the season, and be a reigning beauty, as she might be? That’s the sort of education she should have had, and then she might have married a duke,” Mrs. Somerton said, with warmth. “Why, you’re quite excited about it,” said Mr. Somerton; “I’ve not seen your eyes sparkle so since I don’t know when.” “I hate to see such namby-pambyism,” went on Mrs. Somerton. “When a girl’s got a pretty face, a graceful manner, and plenty of money, she ought to take her place and marry a gentleman, not be buried alive in a stucco palace, with a half-gentleman, half-farmer, half-ironfounder father, a sneaking governess, and an ugly, romantic little painter.” “Well, well, wife, it is no business of ours, and if it was, I don’t think there’s any foundation for alarm. Besides, your ambition ought to be satisfied if young Hammerton, as you say pays more delicate attentions to Amy than he does to Miss Tallant. But Master Hammerton must mind his eye; I’d break every bone in his body if he offered an insult to Amy.” “Young Hammerton!” said Mrs. Somerton, with an affected sneer. “Do you think I’m vain and silly enough to think the daughter of a farm-bailiff has any chance of catching the next heir to an earldom, for her husband?” “A farm-bailiff! Why such emphasis on farm-bailiff, Mistress Somerton? There may be as good blood in the veins of a farm-bailiff as there is in a Hammerton.”