being sure of that.'

These thoughts were not coming into his mind for the first time.
On the occasion when he met Milvain and Marian together in the
country road he had necessarily reflected upon the possibilities
of such intercourse, and with the issue that he did not care to
give any particular encouragement to its continuance. He of
course heard of Milvain's leave-taking call, and he purposely
refrained from seeing the young man after that. The matter took
no very clear shape in his meditations; he saw no likelihood that
either of the young people would think much of the other after
their parting, and time enough to trouble one's head with such
subjects when they could no longer be postponed. It would not
have been pleasant to him to foresee a life of spinsterhood for
his daughter; but she was young, and--she was a valuable
assistant.

How far did that latter consideration weigh with him? He put the
question pretty distinctly to himself now that his wife had
broached the matter thus unexpectedly. Was he prepared to behave
with deliberate selfishness? Never yet had any conflict been
manifested between his interests and Marian's; practically he was
in the habit of counting upon her aid for an indefinite period.

If indeed he became editor of The Study, why, in that case her
assistance would be less needful. And indeed it seemed probable
that young Milvain had a future before him.

'But, in any case,' he said aloud, partly continuing his
thoughts, partly replying to a look of disappointment on his