"On the contrary," says he, "I suppose she is a very nice girl indeed—very—I suppose there’s no doubt of it. And if she has been robbed like that, I am very sorry for her; and I don’t wonder my uncle should be interested in her, and concerned about her, and—and all that’s quite right. But it is too bad—it is too bad—that one should be expected to—to ask her to be one’s wife, and a sort of penalty hanging over one’s head, too. Why, it is enough to set anybody against the whole thing; I thought everybody knew that you can’t get people to marry if you drive them to it—except in France, I suppose, where the whole business is arranged for you by your relatives. This isn’t France; and I am quite sure Miss Avon would consider herself very unfairly treated if she thought she was being made part and parcel of any such arrangement. As for me—well, I am very grateful to my uncle for his long kindness to me; he has been kindness itself to me; and it is quite true, as he says, that he has asked for nothing in return. Well, what he asks now is just a trifle too much. I won’t sell myself for any property. If he is really serious—if it is to be a compulsory marriage like that—Denny-mains can go. I shall be able to earn my own living somehow." There was a chord struck in this brief, hesitating, but emphatic speech that went straight to his torturer’s heart. A look of liking and approval sprang to her eyes. She would no longer worry him. "Don’t you think," said she gently, "that you are taking the matter too seriously? Your uncle does not wish to force you into a marriage against your will; he knows nothing about Adelphi melodramas. What he asks is simple and natural enough. He is, as you see, very fond of Mary Avon; he would like to see her well provided for; he would like to see you settled and established at Denny-mains. But he does not ask the impossible. If she does not agree, neither he nor you can help it. Don’t you think it would be a very simple matter for you to remain with us for a time, pay her some ordinary friendly attention, and then show your uncle that the arrangement he would like does not recommend itself to either you or her? He asks no more than that; it is not much of a sacrifice." There was no stammering about this lady’s exposition of the case. Her head is not very big, but its perceptive powers are remarkable. Then the young man’s face brightened considerably. "Well," said he, "that would be more sensible, surely. If you take away the threat, and the compulsion, and all that, there can be no harm in my being civil to a girl, especially when she is, I am sure, just the sort of girl one ought to be civil to. I am sure she has plenty of common sense—-" It is here suggested once more that, in this house, negative praise of Mary Avon is likely to awake slumbering lions.