He settled himself in his chair for one of his interminable stories; he began his opening sentence—­and stopped, struck dumb at the first word.  There was an unexpected obstacle in the way—­his sister was not attending to him; his sister had silenced him at starting.  The story touching, this time, on the question of marriage, Miss Lavinia had her woman’s interest in seeing full justice done to the subject.  She seized on her brother’s narrative as on property in her own right.

“Joseph should have told you,” she began, addressing herself to Turlington, “that our dear girl was unusually depressed in spirits this morning.  Quite in the right frame of mind for a little serious talk about her future life.  She ate nothing at breakfast, poor child, but a morsel of dry toast.”

“And marmalade,” said Sir Joseph, striking in at the first opportunity.  The story, on this occasion, being Miss Lavinia’s story, the polite contradictions necessary to its successful progress were naturally transferred from the sister to the brother, and became contradictions on Sir Joseph’s side.

“No,” said Miss Lavinia, gently, “if you will have it, Joseph—­jam.”

“I beg your pardon,” persisted Sir Joseph; “marmalade.”

“What does it matter, brother?”

“Sister! the late great and good Doctor Johnson said accuracy ought always to be studied even in the most trifling things.”

“You will have your way, Joseph—­“(this was the formula—­answering to Sir Joseph’s ’Let us waive the point’—­which Miss Lavinia used, as a means of conciliating her brother, and getting a fresh start for her story).  “Well, we took dear Natalie out between us, after breakfast, for a little walk in the grounds.  My brother opened the subject with infinite delicacy and tact.  ‘Circumstances,’ he said, ’into which it was not then necessary to enter, made it very desirable, young as she was, to begin to think of her establishment in life.’  And then he referred, Richard (so nicely), to your faithful and devoted attachment—­”

“Excuse me, Lavinia.  I began with Richard’s attachment, and then I got on to her establishment in life.”

“Excuse me, Joseph.  You managed it much more delicately than you suppose.  You didn’t drag Richard in by the head and shoulders in that way.”

“Lavinia!  I began with Richard.”

“Joseph! your memory deceives you.”

Turlington’s impatience broke through all restraint.

“How did it end?” he asked.  “Did you propose to her that we should be married in the first week of the New Year?”

“Yes!” said Miss Lavinia.

“No!” said Sir Joseph.

The sister looked at the brother with an expression of affectionate surprise.  The brother looked at the sister with a fund of amiable contradiction, expressed in a low bow.

“Do you really mean to deny, Joseph, that you told Natalie we had decided on the first week in the New Year?”