'Dr. Rylance.'

'Dr. Rylance an eligible?' cried Bessie, with girlhood's frank laughter
at the absurd idea of middle age coming into the market to bid for youth.
'Why, auntie, the man must be fifty.'

'Five-and-forty at most, and very young-looking for his age; very
polished, very well off. There are many girls who would be proud to win
such a husband,' said Miss Wendover, glancing at Ida in the firelight.

She wanted to test the girl's temper--to find out, were it possible,
whether this girl, whom she so inclined to love, tried in the fierce
furnace of poverty, had acquired mercenary instincts. She had heard from
Urania of that reckless speech about marrying for money, and she wanted
to know how much or how little that speech had implied.

Ida was silent. She had never told anyone of Dr. Rylance's offer. She
would have deemed it dishonourable to let anyone into the secret of his
humiliation--to let his little world know that he, so superior a person,
could offer himself and be rejected.

'What do you think now, Bess,' pursued Miss Wendover; 'would it not be
rather a nice thing if Dr. Rylance were to marry Ida? We all know how
much he admires her.'

'It would be a very horrid thing!' cried the impetuous Bess. 'I would
ever so much rather Ida married poor Brian, although they had to pig in
furnished lodgings for the first ten years of their life. Crabbed age and
youth cannot dwell together.'