“What a humbug he is!” said Maryllia, half aloud, as she nut the letter back in its envelope and set it aside—­“What a soft, smooth, civil, correctly trained humbug!  How completely he ignores the possibility of my having any intelligence, even while he asks me to remain ‘on the height’ where it can best secure acknowledgment!  He never appears to realise that my intelligence may be of such a quality as to enable me to see through him pretty clearly!  And so the ‘independent and defenceless female’ is the laughing-stock of the clubs, is she?  Well, I daresay he is quite right there!  There’s nothing braver for men to do at their clubs than to laugh at the ‘defenceless’ women who would rather fight the world alone and earn their own livelihood, than enter into loveless marriages!  The quaintest part of the letter is the bit about Aunt Emily.  Roxmouth must really think me a perfect idiot if he dreams that I would accept such a story as that she was ‘surprised and disturbed’ at receiving the box of peacock’s feathers.  Aunt Emily was never ‘surprised’ or ‘disturbed’ at anything in her life, I am sure!  When poor Uncle Fred died, she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes for five minutes, and then sat down at her desk to write her orders for mourning.  And when I spoke my mind to her about Roxmouth, she only smiled and told me not to excite myself.  Then when I said I had determined to leave her altogether and go back to my own home to live, she took it quite easily, and merely stated she would have to alter her will.  I assured her I hoped she would do so at once, as I had no wish to benefit by her death.  Then she didn’t speak to me for several days, and I came away quietly without bidding her good-bye.  And here I am,—­and here I mean to stay!”

She laughed a little, and moving to the open window, looked out on the quiet beauty of the landscape.  “Yes!—­I too will become a laughing-stock of the clubs;—­and even I may attain the distinction of being accepted as a ‘joke by the comie press’!  I will be an ‘independent and defenceless female,’ and see how I get on!  In any case I’d rather be defenceless than have Roxmouth as a defender.  And I shall not be alone here, now that Cicely is coming.  Besides, I have two men friends in the village,—­at least, I think I have!  I’m sure of one,—­old Josey Letherbarrow!” The smile lingered on her lips, as she still looked out on the lawn and terrace, shadowed by the evening dusk, and sweet with the cool perfume of the rising dew.  “And the other,—­if he should turn out as agreeable as he seemed this morning,—­why, he is a tower of strength so far as respectability is concerned!  What better protection can an ‘independent and defenceless female’ have than the minister of the parish?  I can go to him for a character, ask him for a reference, throw myself and my troubles upon him as upon a rock, and make him answer for me as an honest and well-intentioned parishioner!  And I believe he would ‘speak