In the midst of the storm aroused by this renewal of perplexity, Dr Middleton replaced a book his elbow had knocked over in his haste to dash the hair off his forehead, crying:  “Whither?  To what spot?  That reading of guide-books, and idle people’s notes of Travel, and picturesque correspondence in the newspapers, unsettles man and maid.  My objection to the living in hotels is known.  I do not hesitate to say that I do cordially abhor it.  I have had penitentially to submit to it in your dear mother’s time, [Greek], up to the full ten thousand times.  But will you not comprehend that to the older man his miseries are multiplied by his years?  But is it utterly useless to solicit your sympathy with an old man, Clara?”

“General Darleton will take us in, papa.”

“His table is detestable.  I say nothing of that; but his wine is poison.  Let that pass—­I should rather say, let it not pass!—­but our political views are not in accord.  True, we are not under the obligation to propound them in presence, but we are destitute of an opinion in common.  We have no discourse.  Military men have produced, or diverged in, noteworthy epicures; they are often devout; they have blossomed in lettered men:  they are gentlemen; the country rightly holds them in honour; but, in fine, I reject the proposal to go to General Darleton.—­Tears?”

“No, papa.”

“I do hope not.  Here we have everything man can desire; without contest, an excellent host.  You have your transitory tea-cup tempests, which you magnify to hurricanes, in the approved historic manner of the book of Cupid.  And all the better; I repeat, it is the better that you should have them over in the infancy of the alliance.  Come in!” Dr. Middleton shouted cheerily in response to a knock at the door.

He feared the door was locked:  he had a fear that his daughter intended to keep it locked.

“Clara!” he cried.

She reluctantly turned the handle, and the ladies Eleanor and Isabel came in, apologizing with as much coherence as Dr. Middleton ever expected from their sex.  They wished to speak to Clara, but they declined to take her away.  In vain the Rev. Doctor assured them she was at their service; they protested that they had very few words to say, and would not intrude one moment further than to speak them.

Like a shy deputation of young scholars before the master, these very words to come were preceded by none at all; a dismal and trying cause; refreshing however to Dr. Middleton, who joyfully anticipated that the ladies could be induced to take away Clara when they had finished.

“We may appear to you a little formal,” Miss Isabel began, and turned to her sister.

“We have no intention to lay undue weight on our mission, if mission it can be called,” said Miss Eleanor.

“Is it entrusted to you by Willoughby?” said Clara.

“Dear child, that you may know it all the more earnest with us, and our personal desire to contribute to your happiness:  therefore does Willoughby entrust the speaking of it to us.”