“As for happiness,” continued Mr Maguire, “that is not to be looked for from society. They who expect their social hours to be happy hours will be grievously disappointed.”

“Are you not happy at Mrs Stumfold’s?”

“At Mrs Stumfold’s? Yes;—sometimes, that is; but even there I always seem to want something. Miss Mackenzie, has it never occurred to you that the one thing necessary in this life, the one thing—beyond a hope for the next, you know, the one thing is—ah, Miss Mackenzie, what is it?”

“Perhaps you mean a competence,” said Miss Mackenzie.

“I mean some one to love,” said Mr Maguire.

As he spoke he looked with all the poetic vigour of his better eye full into Miss Mackenzie’s face, and Miss Mackenzie, who then could see nothing of the other eye, felt the effect of the glance somewhat as he intended that she should feel it. When a lady who is thinking about getting married is asked by a gentleman who is frequently in her thoughts whether she does not want some one to love, it is natural that she should presume that he means to be particular; and it is natural also that she should be in some sort gratified by that particularity. Miss Mackenzie was, I think, gratified, but she did not express any such feeling.

“Is not that your idea also?” said he,—“some one to love; is not that the great desideratum here below!” And the tone in which he repeated the last words was by no means ineffective.

“I hope everybody has that,” said she.

“I fear not; not anyone to love with a perfect love. Who does Miss Todd love?”

“Miss Baker.”

“Does she? And yet they live apart, and rarely see each other. They think differently on all subjects. That is not the love of which I am speaking. And you, Miss Mackenzie, are you sure that you love anyone with that perfect all-trusting, love?”

“I love my niece Susanna best,” said she.

“Your niece, Susanna! She is a sweet child, a sweet girl; she has everything to make those love her who know her; but—”

“You don’t think anything amiss of Susanna, Mr Maguire?”

“Nothing, nothing; Heaven forbid, dear child! And I think so highly of you for your generosity in adopting her.”

“I could not do less than take one of them, Mr Maguire.”

“But I meant a different kind of love from that. Do you feel that your regard for your niece is sufficient to fill your heart?”

“It makes me very comfortable.”

“Does it? Ah! me; I wish I could make myself comfortable.”

“I should have thought, seeing you so much in Mrs Stumfold’s house—”

“I have the greatest veneration for that woman, Miss Mackenzie! I have sometimes thought that of all the human beings I have ever met, she is the most perfect; she is human, and therefore a sinner, but her sins never meet my eyes.”

Miss Mackenzie, who did not herself regard Mrs Stumfold as being so much better than her neighbours, could not receive this with much rapture.