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Mr Anstruther almost blushed when he heard his daughter’s future thus candidly discussed. It had not occurred to him to regard marriage in the light in which it appeared to Miss Arbuthnot—as a kind of devouring gulf which swallowed up the finest products of the female education movement—and it seemed to him indelicate to estimate probabilities so openly. But both ladies were so evidently unconscious of Miss Arbuthnot’s having said anything improper that he quickly recovered his composure and listened undisturbed to Lady Haigh’s exposé of the advantages of the scheme. The consequence was that when Cecil came in her father’s last doubts had been removed, and he was ready to bid her God-speed in her enterprise.

“Oh! Miss Arbuthnot, must I go?” she asked despairingly, when Mr Anstruther had hurried off to catch his train for Whitcliffe, and Cecil and the principal were at tea in the latter’s sanctum.

“That is for you to decide,” answered Miss Arbuthnot.

“That is just what papa said,” wailed Cecil; “but I don’t want to decide.”