“And you think she can choose—­Horace?”

“Why not?”

“Choose Horace rather than Percival?”

“I should,” said the old lady with smiling audacity.  “And I would rather she did.  Horace’s position is better.”

Mr. Thorne uttered something akin to a grunt, which might by courtesy be taken for a groan:  “Oh, how mercenary you women are!  Well, if you marry a man for his money, Horace has the best of it—­if he behaves himself.  Yes, I admit that—­if he behaves himself"’

“And Horace is handsomer,” said Mrs. Middleton with a smile.

“Pink-and-white prettiness!” scoffed Mr. Thorne.

“Nonsense!” The color mounted to the old lady’s forehead, and she spoke sharply:  “We didn’t hear anything about that when he was a lad, and we were afraid of something amiss with his lungs:  it would have been high treason to say a syllable against him then.  And now, though I suppose he will always be a little delicate (you’d be sorry if you lost him, Godfrey), it’s a shame to talk as if the boys were not to be compared.  They are just of a height, not half an inch difference, and the one as brave and manly as the other.  Horace is fair, and Percival is dark; and you know, as well as I do, that Horace is the handsomer.”

Mr. Thorne shifted his ground:  “If I were Sissy I would choose my husband for qualities that are rather more than skin-deep.”

“By all means.  And still I would choose Horace.”

“What is amiss with Percival?”

“He is not so frank and open.  I don’t want to say anything against him—­I like Percival—­but I wish he were not quite so reserved.”

“What next?” said Mr. Thorne with a short laugh.  “Why, only this morning you said he talked more than Horace.”

“Talked?  Oh yes, Percival can talk, and about himself too,” said Mrs. Middleton with a smile.  “But he can keep his secrets all the time.  I don’t want to say anything against him:  I like him very much—­”

“No doubt,” said Mr. Thorne.

“But I don’t feel quite sure that I know him.  He isn’t like Horace.  You know Horace’s friends—­”

“Trust me for that.”

“But what do you know of Percival’s?  I heard him tell Sissy he would be out to-morrow.  Will you ever know where he went?”

“I sha’n’t ask him.”

“No,” she retorted, “you dare not!  Isn’t it a rule that no one is ever to question Percival?”

“And while I’m master here it shall be obeyed.  It’s the least I can do.  The boy shall come and go, speak or hold his tongue, as he pleases.  No one shall cross him—­Horace least of all—­while I’m master here, Harriet; but that won’t be very long.”

“I don’t want you to think any harm of Percival’s silence,” she answered gently.  “I don’t for one moment suppose he has any secrets to be ashamed of.  I myself like people to be open, that is all.”

“If I wanted to know anything Percival would tell me,” said Mr. Thorne.