Mrs Dale did not move or speak a word when Bell was gone, though it was evident that the squire paused in order that she might ask some question of him.  “Mary,” said he, at last, “I’ll tell you what it is that I have come to say to you.”  Whereupon she put the piece of needlework which was in her hands down upon the work-basket before her, and settled herself to listen to him.

“I wish to speak to you about Bell.”

“About Bell?” said Mrs Dale, as though much surprised that he should have anything to say to her respecting her eldest daughter.

“Yes, about Bell.  Here’s Lily going to be married, and it will be well that Bell should be married too.”

“I don’t see that at all,” said Mrs Dale.  “I am by no means in a hurry to be rid of her.”

“No, I dare say not.  But, of course, you only regard her welfare, and I can truly say that I do the same.  There would be no necessity for hurry as to a marriage for her under ordinary circumstances, but there may be circumstances to make such a thing desirable, and I think that there are.”  It was evident from the squire’s tone and manner that he was very much in earnest; but it was also evident that he found some difficulty in opening out the budget with which he had prepared himself.  He hesitated a little in his voice, and seemed to be almost nervous.  Mrs Dale, with some little spice of ill-nature, altogether abstained from assisting him.  She was jealous of interference from him about her girls, and though she was of course bound to listen to him, she did so with a prejudice against and almost with a resolve to oppose anything that he might say.  When he had finished his little speech about circumstances, the squire paused again; but Mrs Dale still sat silent, with her eyes fixed upon his face.

“I love your children very dearly;” said he, “though I believe you hardly give me credit for doing so.”

“I am sure you do,” said Mrs Dale, “and they are both well aware of it.”

“And I am very anxious that they should be comfortably established in life.  I have no children of my own, and those of my two brothers are everything to me.”

Mrs Dale had always considered it as a matter of course that Bernard should be the squire’s heir, and had never felt that her daughters had any claim on that score.  It was a well-understood thing in the family that the senior male Dale should have all the Dale property and all the Dale money.  She fully recognised even the propriety of such an arrangement.  But it seemed to her that the squire was almost guilty of hypocrisy in naming his nephew and his two nieces together, as though they were the joint heirs of his love.  Bernard was his adopted son, and no one had begrudged to the uncle the right of making such adoption.  Bernard was everything to him, and as being his heir was bound to obey him in many things.  But her daughters were no more to him than any nieces might be to any uncle.  He had nothing to do with their disposal in marriage; and the mother’s spirit was already up in arms and prepared to do battle for her own independence, and for that of her children.  “If Bernard would marry well,” said she, “I have no doubt it would be a comfort to you,”—­meaning to imply thereby that the squire had no right to trouble himself about any other marriage.