Millicent, in spite of her solemn and tearful resolves, had given her heart wholly to her indefatigable admirer, Edmund Barrington, and his sisters rejoiced in the knowledge of it. But Mrs. Barrington, who could not be blind to what was so obviously growing up, was in great trepidation and anxiety. She told both Edmund and her daughters that she understood distinctly from Mrs. Heritage that Millicent was engaged to a young physician in her own neighbourhood; and could they think it honourable, knowing that, to draw away the young girl’s affections whilst under their own roof and care? “Dear mother!” said her daughters, “hast thou seen the portrait of this young man? We have, and Oh! such a simple, smooth-faced Simon it is! Can it be right, can it be honourable to allow a young, clever creature like Millicent to engage herself in her years of inexperienced country life, to a person far unworthy of her; and to retain such an engagement after a more extended knowledge of society, to her life-long unhappiness? No, surely it is better that it should come to a speedy end.” But Mrs. Barrington asked them if they were sure that Dr. Leroy was such a mere cipher as they imagined? She understood from Mrs. Heritage, who was a woman capable of judging, that he was not only a very amiable, but very able and accomplished man.” The daughters had seen a miniature painted by a country artist, in Millicent’s possession, and certainly a more smooth-faced, simple, and meaningless portrait never was beheld. It was the picture which they judged of, not the man, whom they had never seen. Mrs. Barrington zealously resumed the matter with her son, but he replied, that if Millicent liked him better than another, he was not going to say to her, Stick to a man that you now find does not fill by his image the extended horizon of your heart and mind. He thought she ought to be left to judge for herself, in such a matter, most of all. “But, my dear Edmund,” said his mother; “canst thou say that thou hast left her to judge for herself? Hast thou not done thy best to persuade her, and to change her feelings in thy favour?” Edmund smiled. “Ah! dear mother! do we live in such primitive times that we do not venture to pluck a flower because another person likes it too? Are these the days of such disinterested chivalry? Are these days of such self-denying ordinances? I think I could look round in our meeting, and find some very high precedents for such exercise of free will.” Mrs. Barrington was silent, for the truth came very near home, and certain tender reminiscences rose up from long past days, and made her reasonings rather faint. “But what shall I say to thy father? what—oh what! to our friends at Fair Manor?” “Leave all that to me,” said her son; “nature is always in quiet course of development, and brings things round which are not very easy to the sharpest wits.”