"I don't think Gilbert has behaved well," said Mrs. Barford, cautiously. "Dorothy Chance is a good girl, and a pretty girl." "Pretty," sneered Miss Watling, interrupting her friend very unceremoniously, "I could never see any beauty in the wench, with her round black eyes and skin as dark as a gipsy's. I don't believe Gilbert Rushmere cared a snap of his fingers for her." "I know, Nancy, that he was very fond of her," suggested Mrs. Barford, "and you know it too; for I have been told that he made you his confidant, and begged you not to press upon him the offer you made him, of taking your farm on shares." This was said very quietly, but it was a home-thrust. Miss Watling coloured up to the eyes. "I guess who was your informant, Mrs. Barford. Gilbert left that very night, so you could not get it from him. The story is very worthy of credit, is it not, coming from such a source?" "It is not true, then?" and the old lady put down her knitting, and looked Miss Watling full in the face. "I did not say that," said Miss Watling, sharply. "It is partly true and partly false. He did refuse my offer, and gave me his reasons for so doing." "What were they?" asked several eager voices. "He wished to leave the country to get rid of his entanglement with Dorothy. 'He could not marry,' he said, 'a girl so much beneath him.'" "And you advised him to go, Nancy?" "Yes, I did. I thought that it was the best thing he could do. And you see that I was right." Mrs. Barford took up her work and smiled. "It was hard upon the poor old people for you to give him such counsel--still harder upon the poor girl. It nearly killed them, and went nigh to break Dorothy's heart. I cannot yet believe that he has cast her off. Did any of you hear Gilbert's letter?" "Not read, but we heard the contents, ma'am," said little Mrs. Lane. "Farmer Rushmere came into my shop yesterday for an ounce of tobaccy--he's a great smoker. "'Mrs. Lane,' says he, 'my son Gilbert has been promoted for his gallant conduct. He's an officer now in His Majesty's service, and is going to marry a rich young lady in Lunnon, with a portion of six thousand pounds.' These were the very words he said. 'Lauk, sir,' says I, 'what will become of poor Dorothy?'" "And what did he say?" again demanded the eager voices. "'She must get over her disappointment the best way she can,' says he. 'The girl is no worse off than she wor; she will still have a home at our house.'" "Very kind of him, I'm sure," said Miss Watling, "and she owes them so much." "I think the debt is the other way," suggested Mrs. Barford. "Dorothy has repaid them a thousandfold. She has been a little fortune to them, and, besides her clothes, she receives no payment for her services. As to Gilbert marrying a lady of fortune, it may be true, it may not; these stories are always exaggerated. You all know that a great heap of chaff only contains a third of wheat."