Margaret Maliphant

								

been so, or he would scarcely have remained sitting. Knowing him as I
did, I was surprised; for I knew by his face in a moment that he was in
a bad temper, and he never remained sitting when he was in a bad temper.
"Nonsense, Mary, nonsense!" he was saying. "I'm surprised at a woman
of your good-sense running away with such ideas! Mere friendship, mere
friendliness--that's all."
"Well," answered mother, stroking her knee, over which she had turned
up her dress to save it from scorching at the fire, "it was not only
his taking Joyce out to dance first before all the county neighbors,
but he took me into supper himself--and, I can assure you, was most
attentive to me."
"Well, and I should have expected nothing less of him," said father.
"The man is a gentleman, and you have been a good friend to him. No
man, squire or not, need be ashamed of taking my wife into supper--no,
not before ten counties!"
Mother smiled contentedly.
"Every one can't be expected to see as you do, Laban," said she. "I
think it was done with a purpose."
"Oh! And, pray, what purpose?" asked father, in his most irritating and
irritated tone.
Mother was judicious; perhaps even she was a little frightened. She
did not answer just at first. I had slid behind the door of the
jam-press in the corner of the room, and now I began putting the rows
of marmalade pots in order. She had not noticed me.
"I think the squire wishes to marry our eldest daughter," said she,
slowly; and then she reached down her knitting from the mantle-piece
and began to ply her needles.
There was a dreadful silence for a minute.
"I have thought so for a long time," added mother. "I have felt sure
that he must have some other reason for coming here so often besides
mere friendship for two old people."
Father leaned forward in his chair, resting his hand on the arm of it,
as though about to rise, but not rising.
"Well, then, if he has any other reason, the longer he keeps it to
himself the better," said he, in a voice that he tried to prevent from
becoming loud. "But we have no right to judge him until we know,"
added he. "You've made a mistake, mother. The squire isn't thinking of
marrying again. He's no such fool."
"I don't see that he'd be such a fool to wish to marry a sweet girl
that he has known all his life," remonstrated mother.
"He can marry no girl of mine, at least not with my consent," declared
father, loudly, his temper getting the better of him. "My girls must
marry in their own rank of life, or not at all. I have no need of the
gentry to put new blood into our veins. We are good enough and strong
enough for ourselves, any day. But come, old lady, come," he added,
more softly, trying to recover himself, "you've made a mistake. It's
very natural. Mothers will be proud of their children, and women must
always needs fancy riches and honors are the best things in the world."
"Oh, I don't fancy that, I'm sure, Laban," answered mother. "But I