here.  The others were Dolly and Kate, two girls aged sixteen and fifteen.  The two younger “children” were eating bread and butter and jam in a very healthy manner, but still had their ears wide open to the conversation that was being held.  The two younger girls sympathised strongly with their mother.  Mary, who had known much about the Mortons, and was old enough to understand the position which her grandfather had held in reference to the family, of course leaned in her heart to her father’s side.  But she was wiser than her father, and knew that in such discussions her mother often showed a worldly wisdom which, in their present circumstances, they could hardly afford to disregard, unpalatable through it might be.

Mr. Masters disliked these discussions altogether, but he disliked them most of all in presence of his children.  He looked round upon them in a deprecatory manner, making a slight motion with his hand and bringing his head down on one side, and then he gave a long sigh.  If it was his intention to convey some subtle warning to his wife, some caution that she alone should understand, he was deceived.  The “children” all knew what he meant quite as well as did their mother.

“Shall we go out, mamma?” asked Dolly.  “Finish your teas, my dears,” said Mr. Masters, who wished to stop the discussion rather than to carry it on before a more select audience.

“You’ve got to make up your mind to-night,” said Mrs. Masters, “and you’ll be going over to the Bush at eight”

“No, I needn’t.  He is to come on Monday.  I told Nickem I wouldn’t see him to-night; nor, of course, to-morrow.”

“Then he’ll go to Bearside.”

“He may go to Bearside and be —!  Oh, Lord!  I do wish you’d let me drop the business for a few minutes when I am in here.  You don’t know anything about it.  How should you?”

“I know that if I didn’t speak you’d let everything slip through your fingers.  There’s Mr. Twentyman.  Kate, open the door.”

Kate, who was fond of Mr. Twentyman, rushed up, and opened the front door at once.  In saying so much of Kate, I do not mean it to be understood that any precocious ideas of love were troubling that young lady’s bosom.  Kate Masters was a jolly bouncing schoolgirl of fifteen, who was not too proud to eat toffy, and thought herself still a child.  But she was very fond of Lawrence Twentyman, who had a pony that she could ride, and who was always good-natured to her.  All the family liked Mr. Twentyman,—­unless it might be Mary, who was the one that he specially liked himself.  And Mary was not altogether averse to him, knowing him to be good-natured, manly, and straightforward.  But Mr. Twentyman had proposed to her, and she had certainly not accepted him.  This, however, had broken none of the family friendship.  Every one in the house, unless it might be Mary herself, hoped that Mr. Twentyman might prevail at last.  The man was worth six or seven hundred a year, and