“Now, Alan, you are making fun of me. You don’t know what it is to be a housewife, my dear.” “I don’t, mother. Dick and I are very rough and ready in our domestic arrangements. You have asked Sorley to dinner as usual, I hear from Marie.” “Yes, dear,” replied Mrs. Fuller complacently, “your father knows he is not well off, and wishes to show him this yearly attention. Besides, since you love Marie, who is a sweet girl, you should be pleased.” “I am pleased,” said her son gravely, “although Sorley doesn’t approve of my attentions to his niece.” Mrs. Fuller bristled. “What better match does the man want for the girl,” she demanded, all her maternal feathers on end; “you have good blood in your veins, Alan, and good prospects, besides being very handsome and——” “I’m a paragon, mother, there’s no doubt of that. All the same, Sorley, as you observed when I was last here, wants a title and wealth for Marie.” “He’ll never find either in this back-water of life’s river,” retorted Mrs. Fuller rather crossly, “and since Marie loves you there is no more to be said, in my opinion.” “There’s a good deal more to be said in Sorley’s,” said Alan dryly. “He should remember his own love romance, dear, and be more sympathetic with Marie’s desire to become your wife.” “I never knew that Sorley had a love romance, mother. I thought he was wrapped up body and soul in his book on precious stones.” “Oh, he has always been writing that, Alan,” said Mrs. Fuller, with a shrug to hint that she did not think much of the man’s literary abilities, “but he was courting Miss Marchmont over twenty years ago—that was shortly after Squire Inderwick’s death, and before Marie was born. You know, dear, her father died almost immediately after the sweet girl’s birth, and appointed Mr. Sorley to be her guardian. He settled at The Monastery with his sister. Mr. Inderwick and that miserable man Grison were with them for a time. His sister also stayed as Mrs. Inderwick’s companion, but when her brother was dismissed, she went to London and started that boarding-house in Thimble Square, Bloomsbury. Marie was brought up by old Granny Trent, who was the housekeeper. When she grew too old, and Marie went to school at Brighton, her granddaughters, Jane and Henrietta, came to look after the house, and do the active work, although Granny superintends still, I believe. Then Marie returned from school, and——” “Mother, mother, you are repeating history,” interrupted Alan, vexed by this prolix narrative. “I know all this. What about Sorley’s love affair?” “He loved Miss Marchmont, and she died.” “Was she one of the Marchmonts of Augar Place, near Lewes?” “Yes; the only daughter and heiress. Mr. Sorley would have got a lot of money and property had he married her. But she died, and the Manor, along with the income, passed to distant cousins after the death of old Mr. Marchmont some ten years ago.” “What did Miss Marchmont die of?”