‘No such good luck,’ sighed Clara.

‘So he won’t come,’ said her uncle, when he was gone; ’but we shall have him following us yet—­Ha! ha!  Never mind, Clara.’

Clara laughed.  She knew what her uncle meant, but the notion was to her too impossible and ridiculous even to need a blush.  She did not think the world contained Louis’s equal; but she had always known that his love was disposed of, and she no more thought of wishing for it than for any other impossible thing.  His affection for Mary gave her no more pain than did that of James for Isabel; and she would have treated with scorn and anger anything that impeached his constancy.  The pleasure with which he received Mary’s letters was the single satisfaction that she carried away with her.

And so she was borne away, and her sad heart could not choose but be somewhat enlivened by change and novelty, while her uncle made it his business to show her everything as rapidly as it could be seen, apparently with no relish himself for aught but perpetual movement.

So passed the autumn with Clara.  It was not much brighter at Dynevor Terrace.  Clara, being still under age, had it not in her power to resign her half of her grandmother’s income, even if her brother would have accepted it; and 70 pounds made a difference in such an income as James’s, more especially as his innovations did not tend to fill the school.

Murmurs were going about that Mr. Frost was severe, or that he was partial.  Some censured his old opinions, others his new studies; one had been affronted by being almost told his boy was a dunce, another hated all this new-fangled nonsense.  The ladies were all, to a woman, up against his wife, her airs, her poverty, her twins, and her housekeeping; and seldom spoke of her save to contrast her with good old Mrs. Frost.  And then it was plain that something was wrong between him and his uncle, and no one could believe but that his temper had been the cause.  The good Miss Faithfulls struggled in vain to silence scandal, and keep it from ‘coming round;’ and luckily Isabel was the last person likely either to hear or resent.

The boys met with decreased numbers after the holidays; and James received them with undiminished energy, but with failing patience, and a temper not improved by the late transactions at Cheveleigh, and fretted, as Louis had divined, by home cares.

Of all living women, Isabel was one of the least formed by habits or education to be an economical housewife and the mother of twins.  Maternal love did not develop into unwearied delight in infant companionship, nor exclusive interest in baby smiles; and while she had great visions for the future education of her little maidens, she was not desirous to prolong the time spent in their society, but in general preferred peace and Sir Hubert.  On the other hand, James was an unusually caressing father.  After hours among rough inattentive boys, nothing rested him so much