_Father._--You know, my dear, you like the Dean's preaching much better
than mine.

_Mother._--Now, that is unkind of you!

_Father._--And why? [My father went on, taking no heed of my mother's
expostulation.] Because, in the first place, it _is_ better; because, in
the second, it comes in a newer form to you, for you have got used to all
my modes; in the third place, it has more force from the fact that it is
not subject to the doubt of personal preference; and lastly, because he has
a large, comprehensive way of asserting things, which pleases you better
than my more dubitant mode of submitting them,--all very sound and good
reasons: but still, why be so vexed with Wynnie?

[My mother was now, however, so vexed with my father for saying she
preferred the Dean's preaching to his,--although I doubt very much whether
it wasn't true,--that she actually walked out of the octagon room where
they were, and left him to meditate on his unkindness. Vexed with herself
the next moment, she returned as if nothing had happened. I am only telling
what my mother told me; for to her grown daughters she is blessedly
trusting.]

_Mother._--Then if you will have them married, husband, will you say how on
earth you expect them to live? He just makes both ends meet now: I suppose
he doesn't make things out worse than they are; and that is his own account
of the state of his affairs.

_Father._--Ah, yes! that _is_--a secondary consideration, my dear. But I
have hardly begun to think about it yet. There will be a difficulty there,