On the Sunday morning following that remarkable¹ Saturday on which Miss Bonner had been taken to her new home and Ralph Newton had ordered three pair of breeches, Mr. Neefit made a very ambitious proposition. "My dear, I think I'll ask that young man to come and have a bit of dinner here next Sunday." This was said after breakfast, as Mr. Neefit was being made smart in his church-going coat and his Sunday hat, which were kept together in Mrs. Neefit's big press.

"Which young man?" Now Mrs. Neefit when she asked the question knew very well that Mr. Newton was the young man to whom hospitality was to be offered. Ontario Moggs was her favourite; but Mr. Neefit would not have dreamed of asking Ontario Moggs to dinner.

"Mr. Newton, my dear," said Mr. Neefit, with his head stuck sharply up, while his wife tied a bow in his Sunday neckhandkerchief.

"Why should us ask him? He won't think nothing of his vittels when he gets 'em. He'd only turn up his nose; and as for Polly, what's the use of making her more saucy² than she is? I don't want such as him here, Neefit;—that I don't. Stuck-up young men like him had better stay away from Alexandrina Cottage,"—that was the name of the happy home at Hendon. "I'm sure our Polly won't be the better for having the likes of him here."

Nothing more was said on the subject till after the return of the family from church; but, during the sermon Mr. Neefit had had an opportunity of thinking the subject over, and had resolved that this was a matter in which it behoved him to be master. How was this marriage to be brought about if the young people were not allowed to see each other? Of course he might fail. He knew that. Very probably Mr. Newton might not accept the invitation,—might never show himself again at Alexandrina Cottage; but unless an effort was made there could not be success. "I don't see why he shouldn't eat a bit of dinner here," said Mr. Neefit, as soon as his pipe was lighted after their early dinner. "It ain't anything out of the way, as I know of."

"You're thinking of Polly, Neefit?"

"Why shouldn't I be thinking of her? There ain't no more of 'em. What's the use of working for her, if one don't think of her?"

"It won't do no good, Neefit. If we had things here as we might have 'em, indeed—!"

"What's amiss?"

"With nothing to drink out of, only common wine-glasses; and it's my belief Jemima 'd never cook a dinner as he'd look at. I know what they are,—them sort of young men. They're worse than a dozen ladies when you come to vittels."

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