then you're to have your money all the same."

The tears came into Janet's eyes. She bent down and kissed Aunt Wood, and would have thanked her, but Aunt Wood said, with something of her old manner,-"There, that's enough. Don't thank me, only say you'll come. Jeremiah, an' Esau, an' Delia, an' Mary, all on 'em wish it, only they said they knew you'd not come, so 'twas no good to ask you, an' I thought you'd not refuse the poor helpless old woman. Say that you'll come, Janet." "Yes, Aunt Wood, I will. But I mustn't do anything unhandsome to Mr. Platt. I must stay until he can get another governess. He has always been kind to

me."

"I don't want you to behave unhan’some to Mr Platt; you must tell him about what I've said at once, an' if he can't get another governess directly, why, you must go back till he can; but that don't alter what I've said. There's the receipt, now your father owes you the money; an' you'll come here to live as soon as you can.'

Aunt Mary came into the room to take Janet away; she thought talking so much would excite Aunt Wood.

"Janet'll come an' live here, Mary," said Aunt Wood, "as soon as Mr Platt can suit himself with another governess."

251

CHAPTER XVIII.

EVER since the day when Dr Thorpe visited Holme the subject of their conversation came again and again into Mr Bateman's mind. The Doctor thought him prejudiced, he saw that. Was he not much more likely to form a correct estimate of a woman's character than was the Rector of Eckington? He was more a man of the world. The Doctor's profession might make him lean towards charity, it might make him hope that there was good where no good existed. Charity was a beautiful virtue, but it would not do charitably to think no evil, to take for granted that all was well, and then to find a large crop of

follies, or something worse, in an only son's wife. No, no, the Doctor meant well, but he was mistaken, Mr Bateman could not be deceived here; he had been deceived once, he never would be again; and then he tried to dismiss the subject from his thoughts. But he could not; in the midst of his business the Doctor's quiet voice would be heard. Strange girl she must be, Mr Bateman thought; I don't understand her game, but she's playing a deep one, and she's taken in my friend the Doctor, and won him over to her side. Well, he's mortal, he's not the first of his cloth whose better judgment has been warped by a pretty face. Again the subject was dismissed, at least Mr Bateman tried to do so; he became restless and irritable. Miss Tudor might love his son, he thought; Andrew was a good match, better than she had any right to expect. Dr Thorpe had spoken of her refusing a better, that was not mercenary certainly; there must be some mistake, women were difficult to understand. Mr Bateman did not for a moment think that he himself could be mistaken. Supposing he was-it was not

likely, it was not possible-but supposing he was mistaken, and that Miss Tudor was all that Dr Thorpe believed her to be. Oh that Andrew had taken a fancy to any one else, any one even in a humble position, he would not have rejected. But that girl -the daughter of the man who had wronged him, who had deceived him,--to bid her welcome, to own that he had been mistaken, at his age to own that he had been in the wrong; of course he needn't own it in words, but his actions would give proof of his altered opinion. This would be wounding to the pride which lurks in most hearts, and elderly people cannot cast aside a cherished prejudice; rather it is treasured like comfortable old slippers, which neither chafe nor gall, but which invite repose. He thought that he really should like to see the girl; not that Dr Thorpe had convinced him of her goodness-oh dear, no, not one bit; and he distinctly said that to himself his opinion was quite unchanged, and would remain so, but having heard so much about Miss Tudor, he felt a curiosity to see her. He was not so young as Andrew, nor so soft-hearted as the Doctor, so he was not so