‘I don’t want him to be a genius, but he must be wise.’
‘Oh, my dear! That comes of the way young ladies are brought up. What would the Miss Berrilees have said, where I was at school at Bath, if one of their young ladies had talked of wanting to marry a wise man?’
Phœbe gave a faint smile, and said, ‘What was Mr. Charlecote like, mamma, whose brass was put up the day Robert was locked into the church?’
‘Humfrey Charlecote, my dear? The dearest, most good-hearted man that ever lived. Everybody liked him. There was no one that did not feel as if they had lost a brother when he was taken off in that sudden way.’
‘And was not he very wise, mamma?’
‘Bless me, Phœbe, what could have put that into your head? Humfrey Charlecote a wise man? He was just a common, old-fashioned, hearty country squire. It was only that he was so friendly and kind-hearted that made every one trust him, and ask his advice.’
‘I should like to have known him,’ said Phœbe, with a sigh.
‘Ah, if you married any one like that! But there’s no use waiting! There’s nobody left like him, and I won’t have you an old maid! You are prettier than either of your sisters—more like me when I came away from Miss Berrilees, and had a gold-sprigged muslin for the Assize Ball, and Humfrey Charlecote danced with me.’
Phœbe fell into speculations on the wisdom whose counsel all asked, and which had left such an impression of affectionate honour. She would gladly lean on such an one, but if no one of the like mould remained, she thought she could never bear the responsibilities of marriage.
Meantime she erected Humfrey Charlecote’s image into a species of judge, laying before this vision of a wise man all