“No:  I never was one to see beyond the horizon.  But if you must have to-morrow in to-day, why then send off your letter.  I would let ‘well’ alone.  When change comes to the door, it is time enough to ask it over the threshold.  We are very happy now, William, and every happy day is so much certain gain in life.”

“That is a woman’s way of talking.  A man looks for the future.”

“And how seldom does he get what he looks for.  But I know you, William Sandal.  You will take your own way, be it good or bad; and what is more, you will make others take it with you.”

“I am inviting my own nephew, Alice.  Eh?  What?”

“You know nothing about it.  There are kin that are not kindred.  You are inviting you know not who or what.  But,”—­and she pushed the letter towards him, with a gesture which seemed to say, “I am not responsible for the consequences.”

The squire after a moment’s thought accepted them.  He went into the yard, humming a strain of “The Bay of Biscay,” and gave the letter to a groom, with orders to take it at once to the post-office.  Then he called Charlotte from the rose-walk.  “The horses are saddled,” he said, “and I want you to trot over to Dalton with me.”

Mrs. Sandal had gone to her eldest daughter.  She was in the habit of seeking Sophia’s advice; or, more strictly speaking, she liked to discuss with her the things she had already determined to do.  Sophia was sitting in the coolest and prettiest of gowns, working out with elaborate care a pencil drawing of Rydal Mount.  She listened to her mother with the utmost respect and attention, and her fine color brightened slightly at the mention of Julius Sandal; but she never neglected once to change an F or an H pencil for a B at the precise stroke the change was necessary.

“And so you see, Sophia, we may have a strange young man in the house for weeks, and where to put him I can’t decide.  And I wanted to begin the preserving and the raspberry vinegar next week, but your father is as thoughtless as ever was; and I am sure if Julius is like his father he’ll be no blessing in a house, for I have heard your grandmother speak in such a way of her son Tom.”

“I thought uncle Tom was grandmother’s favorite.”

“I mean of his high temper and fine ways, and his quarrels with his eldest brother Launcelot.”

“Oh!  What did they quarrel about?”

“A good many things; among the rest, about the Latriggs.  There was more than one pretty girl at Up-Hill then, and the young men all knew it.  Tom and his mother were always finger and thumb.  He was her youngest boy, and she fretted after him all her life.”

“And uncle Launcelot, did she not fret for him?”

“Not so much.  Launcelot was the eldest, and very set in his own way:  she couldn’t order him around.”

“The eldest?  Then father would not have been squire of Sandal-Side if Launcelot had lived?”