felt so once, and that is why he is still free. Charles's dread that his
uncle will marry is most unworthy. He never will, but why should he not?
Mama declares that he is waiting for a woman of intellect, I can hear
her: 'Depend upon it, a woman of intellect will marry Dayton Manor.'
Should that mighty event not come to pass, poor Charles will have to sink
the name of Everett in that of Pollingray. Mr. Pollingray's name is the
worst thing about him. When I think of his name I see him ten times
older than he is. My feelings are in harmony with his pedigree
concerning the age of the name. One would have to be a woman of
profound intellect to see the advantage of sharing it.

'Mrs. Pollingray!' She must be a lady with a wig.

It was when we were rowing up by Hatchard's mill that I first perceived
his weakness, he was looking at me so kindly, and speaking of his
friendship for papa, and how glad he was to be fixed at last, near to us
at Dayton. I wished to use some term of endearment in reply, and said,
I remember, 'Yes, and we are also glad, Godpapa.' I was astonished that
he should look so disconcerted, and went on: 'Have you forgotten that you
are my godpapa?'

He answered: 'Am I? Oh! yes--the name of Alice.'

Still he looked uncertain, uncomfortable, and I said, 'Do you want to
cancel the past, and cast me off?'

'No, certainly not'; he, I suppose, thought he was assuring me.

I saw his lips move at the words I cancel the past,' though he did not
speak them out. He positively blushed. I know the sort of young man he