Sarah's good common sense set us all laughing, and when she brought in two large baskets, Frances and I went forth to buy our supper. When we were a short way from the house, I said: "I've come to spend several days with you, my cousin-sister. Are you not delighted?" "Yes," she answered, cordially enough, but without the old-time gladness in her manner. "And my purpose in coming concerns you," I continued. She started perceptibly and blushed, but after a moment brought herself together and asked laughingly:-- "You don't want to marry me, brother Ned?" "No, no," I answered. "We're far too dear to each other to spoil it all by marriage, and my station in life, to say nothing of my small estate, is in no way up to your value. It would not be a fair exchange. Your husband shall be at least a duke, with not less than forty thousand pounds a year. That, by the way, is a part of my mission in Sundridge. No, no, I do not bring an offer!" I said, hastily, noticing that she drew away from me in her manner, "I simply hope to pave the way to such an offer some time in the future, and want to warn you against doing anything that might forestall good fortune." I had hardly finished speaking when her manner of drawing away became so pronounced that I feared I might lose my race by going too fast, so I quickly sought to right myself by saying with marked emphasis:-- "I am not going to pry into your affairs." A telltale blush came to her cheek as she interrupted me with a touch of warmth: "I have no affairs." "I am sure you have not," I answered soothingly, "though a girl as beautiful as you are is sure to attract men, and is quite as sure to have little affairs. But they are of no more importance than a laugh and a sigh." "Yes, yes, of course. Of no importance--not the least," she answered, blushing exquisitely, and unconsciously telling me there was an affair. "No, no," I continued earnestly. "I do not want to pry. I am simply going to suggest a project which perhaps you may turn to your advantage. Marriage has no part in it save that the greatest good fortune that can befall a woman is to marry well, which I hope will be the ultimate result of what I shall propose. If a young woman's friends do not put her in a position to marry the right sort of a man, they fail in their duty to her." "I hate the word 'marriage,'" returned Frances, impatiently. "Ah, but it is a woman's privilege, the one great purpose of her life," I insisted. "Why pretend otherwise? I don't believe in the drag-net process of getting a husband, but in England a girl must be seen before she is married, and her chief concern should be to be seen by the right man." "I should detest the right man," returned Frances, now grown almost surly.