upstairs with her sisters, but he was an actual within the bounds of possibility, and after all not a bad actual as actuals went.  What else could she do?  Run away?  She dared not.  Marry beneath her and be considered a disgrace to her family?  She dared not.  Remain at home and become an old maid and be laughed at?  Not if she could help it.  She did the only thing that could reasonably be expected.  She was drowning; Theobald might be only a straw, but she could catch at him and catch at him she accordingly did.

If the course of true love never runs smooth, the course of true match-making sometimes does so.  The only ground for complaint in the present case was that it was rather slow.  Theobald fell into the part assigned to him more easily than Mrs Cowey and Mrs Allaby had dared to hope.  He was softened by Christina’s winning manners:  he admired the high moral tone of everything she said; her sweetness towards her sisters and her father and mother, her readiness to undertake any small burden which no one else seemed willing to undertake, her sprightly manners, all were fascinating to one who, though unused to woman’s society, was still a human being.  He was flattered by her unobtrusive but obviously sincere admiration for himself; she seemed to see him in a more favourable light, and to understand him better than anyone outside of this charming family had ever done.  Instead of snubbing him as his father, brother and sisters did, she drew him out, listened attentively to all he chose to say, and evidently wanted him to say still more.  He told a college friend that he knew he was in love now; he really was, for he liked Miss Allaby’s society much better than that of his sisters.

Over and above the recommendations already enumerated, she had another in the possession of what was supposed to be a very beautiful contralto voice.  Her voice was certainly contralto, for she could not reach higher than D in the treble; its only defect was that it did not go correspondingly low in the bass:  in those days, however, a contralto voice was understood to include even a soprano if the soprano could not reach soprano notes, and it was not necessary that it should have the quality which we now assign to contralto.  What her voice wanted in range and power was made up in the feeling with which she sang.  She had transposed “Angels ever bright and fair” into a lower key, so as to make it suit her voice, thus proving, as her mamma said, that she had a thorough knowledge of the laws of harmony; not only did she do this, but at every pause added an embellishment of arpeggios from one end to the other of the keyboard, on a principle which her governess had taught her; she thus added life and interest to an air which everyone—­so she said—­must feel to be rather heavy in the form in which Handel left it.  As for her governess, she indeed had been a rarely accomplished musician:  she was a pupil of the famous Dr Clarke of Cambridge, and used