“I wish,” said Doctor Ives to his wife, the evening his son had asked their permission to address Clara, “Francis had chosen my little Emily.”

“Clara is a good girl,” replied his wife; “she is so mild, so affectionate, that I doubt not she will make him happy—­Frank might have done worse at the Hall.”

“For himself he has done well, I hope,” said the father, “a young woman of Clara’s heart may make any man happy but a union with purity, sense, principles, like those of Emily would be more—­it would be blissful.”

Mrs. Ives smiled at her husband’s animation.  “You remind me more of the romantic youth I once knew than of the grave divine.  There is but one man I know that I could wish to give Emily to; it is Lumley.  If Lumley sees her, he will woo her; and if he wooes, he will win her.”

“And Lumley I believe to be worthy of her,” cried the rector, now taking up a candle to retire for the night.

Chapter XIII.

The following day brought a large party of the military elegants to the Hall, in acceptance of the baronet’s hospitable invitation to dinner.  Lady Moseley was delighted; so long as her husband’s or her children’s interest had demanded a sacrifice of her love of society it had been made without a sigh, almost without a thought.  The ties of affinity in her were sacred; and to the happiness, the comfort of those in which she felt an interest, there were few sacrifices of her own propensities she would not cheerfully have made:  it was this very love of her offspring that made her anxious to dispose of her daughters in wedlock.  Her own marriage had been so happy, that she naturally concluded it the state most likely to ensure the happiness of her children; and with Lady Moseley, as with thousands of others, who averse or unequal to the labors of investigation, jump to conclusions over the long line of connecting reasons, marriage was marriage, a husband was a husband.  It is true there were certain indispensables, without which the formation of a connexion was a thing she considered not within the bounds of nature.  There must be fitness in fortune, in condition, in education, and manners; there must be no glaring evil, although she did not ask for positive good.  A professor of religion herself, had any one told her it was a duty of her calling to guard against a connexion with any but a Christian for her girls, she would have wondered at the ignorance that would embarrass the married state, with feelings exclusively belonging to the individual.  Had any one told her it were possible to give her child to any but a gentleman, she would have wondered at the want of feeling that could devote the softness of Jane or Emily, to the association with rudeness or vulgarity.  It was the misfortune of Lady Moseley to limit her views of marriage to the scene of this life, forgetful that every union gives existence to a long line of immortal beings, whose future welfare depends greatly on the force of early examples, or the strength of early impressions.