“His visit was to be for six weeks.  Did you not see the postscript?”

“No, the letter was enough for one while.”

“Here it is:  ’I shall send Dove in the Space of about a Fortnight or three Weeks to bring to Town the young Coach Horses you mentioned.  His Wife is to return with him, as I have Occasion for her in Town, and your Daughter must be ready to come up with them.’”

“Bless me!  That is prompt!  But it is thoughtful.  Mrs. Dove is a good soul.  It seems to me as if my Lady, though she may not choose to say so, wishes to see the child, and if she approve of her, breed her up in the accomplishments needed for such an elevation.”

“If you hold that opinion, dear sir, it is well.”

“If I thought she meant other than kindness toward the dear maid, I had rather we all pinched together than risk the little one in her hands.  I had rather-if it comes to that—­live on a crust a day than part with my sweet child; but if it were for good, Betty!  It is hard for you all three to be cooped up together here, with no means of improving your condition; and this may be an opening that I ought not to reject.  What say you, Betty?”

“If I were to send her out into the world, I had rather bind her apprentice to the Misses Rigby to learn mantua-making.”

“Nay, nay, my dear; so long as I live there is no need for my children to come to such straits.”

“As long as you retain your situation, sir; but you perceive how my Lady concludes her letter.”

“An old song, Betty, which she sings whenever the coin does not come in fast enough to content her.  She does not mean what she says; I know Urania of old.  No; I will write back to her, thanking her for her good offices, but telling her my little girl is too young to be launched into the world as yet.  Though if it were Harriet, she might not be unwilling.”

“Harriet would be transported at the idea; but it is not she whom the Lady wants.  And indeed I had rather trust little Aurelia to take care of herself than poor Harriet.”

“We shall see!  We shall see!  Meantime, do not broach the subject to your sisters.”

Betty assented, and departed with a heavy heart, feeling that, whatever her father might believe, the choice would be between the sacrifice of Aurelia or of her father’s agency, which would involve the loss of home, of competence, and of the power of breeding up her darling Eugene according to his birth.  She did not even know what her father had written, and could only go about her daily occupations like one under a weight, listening to her sisters’ prattle about their little plans with a strange sense that everything was coming to an end, and constantly weighing the comparative evils of yielding or refusing Aurelia.