"Oh, no, no, no, no!" repeated Ethel vehemently. "Then you didn't
mind our talking about it?"

"Of course not, as long as it goes no further. It is the use of
sisters to tell them one's private sentiments. Is not it, Norman?"

"And do you really think it is so, papa?" Ethel could not help
whispering.

"I'm afraid it is", said Dr. May, sighing; then, as he caught her
earnest eyes, "The more I see of Alan, the finer fellow I think him,
and the more sorry I am for him. It seems presumptuous, almost
wrong, to think of the matter at all while my poor Margaret is in
this state; and, if she were well, there are other difficulties which
would, perhaps, prevent his speaking, or lead to long years of
waiting and wearing out hope."

"Money?" said Ethel.

"Ay! Though I so far deserve your compliment, miss, that should be
foolish enough, if she were but well, to give my consent to-morrow,
because I could not help it; yet one can't live forty-six years in
this world without seeing it is wrong to marry without a reasonable
dependence--and there won't be much among eleven of you. It makes my
heart ache to think of it, come what may, as far as I can see, and
without her to judge. The only comfort is, that poor Margaret
herself knows nothing of it, and is at peace so far. It will be
ordered for them, anyhow. Good-night, my dear."