Though there was an air of badinage¹, almost of tomfoolery, about Dolly when she spoke² of her matrimonial prospects³ to her father,—as when she said that she would "stick a knife" into Mr. Barry,—still there was a seriousness in all she said which was more than grave. She was pathetic and melancholy⁵. She knew that there was nothing before her but to stay with her father, and then to devote herself to her cousins, from whom she was aware that she recoiled⁶ almost with hatred⁷. And she knew that it would be a good thing to be married,—if only the right man would come. The right man would have to bear with her father, and live in the same house with him to the end. The right man must be a preux chevalier sans peur et sans reproche. The right man must be strong-minded and masterful, and must have a will of his own; but he must be strong-minded always for good. And where was she to find such a man as this? she who was only an attorney's daughter,—plain, too, and with many eccentricities⁸. She was not intended to marry, and consequently the only man who came in her way was her father's partner, for whom, in regard to a share in the business, she might be desirable.

Devotion to the Carroll cousins was manifestly her duty. The two eldest⁹ girls she absolutely did hate, and their father. To hate the father, because he was vicious beyond cure, might be very well; but she could not hate the girls without being aware that she was guilty of a grievous sin. Every taste possessed¹⁰ by them was antagonistic¹¹ to her. Their amusements, their literature, their clothes, their manners,—especially in regard to men,—their gestures and color, were distasteful to her. "They hide their dirt with a thin

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