While Clarissa Underwood was being kissed on the lawn at Popham Villa¹, Sir Thomas was sitting, very disconsolate², in a private room at the Dolphin, in Southampton. It had required no great consideration to induce him to resolve that a home should be given by him to his niece. Though he was a man so weak that he could allow himself to shun³ from day to day his daily duty,—and to do this so constantly as to make up out of various omissions⁴, small in themselves, a vast aggregate⁵ of misconduct,—still he was one who would certainly do what his conscience prompted him to be right in any great matter as to which the right and the wrong appeared to him to be clearly defined. Though he loved his daughters dearly, he could leave them from day to day almost without protection,—because each day's fault in so doing was of itself but small. This new niece of his he certainly did not love at all. He had never seen her. He was almost morbidly⁶ fearful of new responsibilities. He expected nothing but trouble in thus annexing⁷ a new unknown member to his family. And yet he had decided⁸ upon doing it, because the duty to be done was great enough to be clearly marked,—demanding an immediate⁹ resolve, and capable of no postponement¹⁰. But, as he thought of it, sitting alone on the eve of the girl's coming, he was very uneasy. What was he to do with her if he found her to be one difficult to manage, self-willed, vexatious, or,—worse again,—ill-conditioned as to conduct, and hurtful to his own children? Should it even become

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