Laura sat down across from her, and then clasping her hands together made her final determined stand.

“You needn’t try to persuade me, Aunt Rosa,” she answered, “for I wouldn’t marry him—­no, not if he had billions.”

For a brief interlude Mrs. Payne returned her gaze with silent yet expressive dignity.

“There’s really no occasion to become violent,” she observed at last, “particularly in the presence of poor Angela.”

“But I like it!  I like it,” declared Angela, “it is her marriage that I couldn’t bear.”

Mrs. Payne turned her reproachful look for a moment upon the weaker sister.

“I am very sure, my dear, that we can bear anything the Lord chooses to send,” she remarked, “especially when we feel that our cross is for another’s good.  Is there any reason,” she wound up to Laura again, “for the obstinate position you appear to take?”

Laura shook her head.

“I don’t take any position,” she replied, “I simply decline to be made to marry him, that’s all.”

“But you like him—­I’ve heard you say so much with my own ears.”

“You never heard me say I liked him for a husband.”

“It would have been highly indelicate if I had,” observed Mrs Payne, “but since he has proposed I may as well impress upon you that any kind of liking is quite sufficient argument for a marriage which would be so suitable in every way.  And as to the romantic nonsense—­well it all comes very much to the same thing in the long run, and whether you begin by loving a man or by hating him, after six months of marriage you can ask nothing better than to be able to regard him with Christian forbearance.”

Laura turned away impatiently as Uncle Percival put his bland, child-like face in at the open door.

“I hope you had a quiet night, Angela,” he said in his high, piping voice; “the morning is a fine one and I’ve already had my turn.”  Then, holding his coat closely over a small bundle which he carried, he greeted Mrs. Payne with a deprecating smile.  “You’re down early, Rosa; it’s a good habit.”

Mrs. Payne surveyed him with an intolerant humour.

“I’m not undertaking to cultivate a habit at my time of life,” she responded, raising her voice until it sounded harsh and cracked; then she became a prey to a devouring suspicion.  “What is that under your coat?” she demanded sternly.

Uncle Percival’s flaccid mouth fell open with a frightened droop, and he took instantly the demeanour of a small offending schoolboy.

“It—­it’s only a little present for Angela,” he replied.  “I thought it might interest her, but I hardly think you would care for it, Rosa.”

“What is it?” persisted Mrs. Payne in her unyielding calmness.

The object moved beneath his coat, and, pulling it out with a timid yet triumphant gesture, he displayed before their astonished eyes a squirming white rabbit.