"Papa has told me all about it," were Clarissa\'s first words as soon as they were out of the gate on the road to Mrs. Brownlow\'s.

"All about what, Clary?"

"Oh you know;—or rather it was Patience told me, and then I asked papa. I am so glad."

Mary had as yet hardly had time to think whether the coming of this letter to her uncle would or would not be communicated to her cousins; but had she thought, she would have been almost sure that Sir Thomas would be more discreet. The whole matter was to her so important, so secret, almost so solemn, that she could hardly imagine that it should be discussed among the whole household. And yet she felt a strong longing within herself to be able to talk of it to some one. Of the two cousins Clary was certainly her favourite, and had she been forced to consult any one, she would have consulted Clary. But an absolute confidence in such a matter with a chosen friend, the more delightful it might appear, was on that very account the more difficult of attainment. It was an occasion for thought, for doubt, and almost for dismay; and now Clary rushed into it as though everything could be settled in a walk from Fulham to Parson\'s Green! "It is very good of you to be glad, Clary," said the other,—hardly knowing why she said this, and yet meaning it. If in truth Clary was glad, it was good of her. For this man to whom Clary was alluding had won from her own lover all his inheritance.

"I like him so much. You will let me talk about him; won\'t you?"

"Oh, yes," said Mary.

"Do; pray do. There are so many reasons why we should tell each other everything." This elicited no promise from Mary. "If I thought that you would care, I would tell you all."

"I care about everything that concerns you, Clary."

"But I didn\'t bring you out to talk about myself now. I want to tell you how much I like your Ralph Newton."

"But he isn\'t mine."

"Yes he is;—at any rate, if you like to have him. And of course you will like. Why should you not? He is everything that is nice and good;—and now he is to be the owner of all the property. What I want to tell you is this; I do not begrudge it to you."

Why should Clarissa begrudge or not begrudge the property? Mary understood it all, but nothing had been said entitling her to speak as though she understood it. "I don\'t think you would begrudge me anything that you thought good for me," said Mary.

"And I think that Mr. Ralph Newton,—this Mr. Ralph Newton, is very good for you. Nothing could be so good. In the first place would it not be very nice to have you mistress of Newton Priory? Only that shouldn\'t come properly first."

"And what should come first, Clary?"

"Oh,—of course that you should love him better than anything in the world. And you do,—don\'t you?"

"It is too sudden to say that yet, Clary."

"But I am sure you will. Don\'t you feel that you will? Come, Mary, you should tell me something."

"There is so little to tell."

"Then you are afraid of me. I wanted to tell you everything."

"I am not afraid of you. But, remember, it is hardly more than an hour ago since I first heard of Mr. Newton\'s wishes, and up to that moment nothing was further from my dreams."

"I was sure of it, ever so long ago," said Clarissa.

"Oh, Clary!"

"I was. I told Patience how it was to be. I saw it in his eyes. One does see these things. I knew it would be so; and I told Patience that we three would be three Mrs. Newtons. But that of course was nonsense."

"Nonsense, indeed."

"I mean about Patience."

"And what about yourself, Clary?" Clarissa made no answer, and yet she was burning to tell her own story. She was most anxious to tell her own story, but only on the condition of reciprocal confidence. The very nature of her story required that the confidence should be reciprocal. "You said that you wanted to tell me everything," said Mary.

"And so I do."

"You know how glad I shall be to hear."

"That is all very well, but,—" And then Clarissa paused.

"But what, dear?"

"You do mean to accept Mr. Newton?"

Now it was time for Mary to pause. "If I were to tell you my whole heart," she said, "I should be ashamed of what I was saying; and yet I do not know that there is any cause for shame."

"There can be none," said Clary. "I am sure of that."

"My acquaintance with Mr. Newton is very, very slight. I liked him,—oh, so much. I thought him to be high-spirited, manly, and a fine gentleman. I never saw any man who so much impressed me."

"Of course not," said Clarissa, making a gesture as though she would stop on the high road and clasp her hands together, in which, however, she was impeded by her parasol and her remembrance of her present position.

"But it is so much to say that one will love a man better than all the world, and go to him, and belong to him, and be his wife."

"Ah;—but if one does love him!"

"I can hardly believe that love can grow so quickly."

"Tell the truth, Mary; has it not grown?"

"Indeed I cannot say. There; you shall have the whole truth. When he comes to me,—and I suppose he will come."

"There isn\'t much doubt of that."

"If he does come—"

"Well?"

"I hardly know what I shall say to him. I shall try to—to love him."

"Of course you will love him,—better than all the world."

"I know that he is paying me the greatest compliment that a man can pay to a woman. And there is no earthly reason why I should not be proud to accept all that he offers me. I have nothing of my own to bestow in return."

"But you are so beautiful."

Mary would make no pretence of denying this. It was true that that one great feminine possession did belong to her. "After all," she said, "how little does beauty signify! It attracts, but it can make no man happy. He has everything to give to a wife, and he ought to have much in return for what he gives."

"You don\'t mean that a girl should refuse a rich man because she has no fortune of her own?"

"No; not quite that. But she ought to think whether she can be of use to him."

"Of course you will be of use, my dear;—of the greatest use in the world. That\'s his affair, and he is the best judge of what will be of use. You will love him, and other men will envy him, and that will be everything. Oh dear, I do so hope he will come soon."

"And I,—I almost hope he will not. I shall be so afraid to see him. The first meeting will be so awful. I shall not dare to look him in the face."

"But it is all settled."

"No;—not settled, Clary."

"Yes; it is settled. And now I will tell you what I mean when I say I do not begrudge him to you. That is—; I do not know whether you will care to be told."

"I care very much, Clary. I should be very unhappy if you did begrudge me anything.&q............