“Mr. Fenton.”

“Mr. Fenton.  He has been here with me just now; and I know that he asked you to be his wife.”

“He did, uncle George.”

“And you didn’t refuse him, Marian?”

“Not positively, uncle George.  He took me so much by surprise, you see; and I really don’t know how to refuse any one; but I think I ought to have made him understand more clearly that I meant no.”

“But why, my dear?”

“Because I am sure I don’t care about him as much as I ought to care.  I like him very well, you know, and think him clever and agreeable, and all that kind of thing.”

“That will soon grow into a warmer feeling, Marian; at least I trust in God that it will do so.”

“Why, dear uncle?”

“Because I have set my heart upon this marriage.  O Marian, my love, I have never ventured to speak to you about your future—­the days that must come when I am dead and gone; and you can never know how many anxious hours I have spent thinking of it.  Such a marriage as this would secure you happiness and prosperity in the years to come.”

She clung about him fondly, telling him she cared little what might become of her life when he should be lost to her. That grief must needs be the crowning sorrow of her existence; and it would matter nothing to her what might come afterwards.

“But my dear love, ‘afterwards’ will make the greater part of your life.  We must consider these things seriously, Marian.  A good man’s affection is not to be thrown away rashly.  You have known Mr. Fenton a very short time; and perhaps it is only natural you should think of him with comparative indifference.”

“I did not say I was indifferent to him, uncle George; only that I do not love him as he seems to love me.  It would be a kind of sin to accept so much and to give so little.”

“The love will come, Marian; I am sure that it will come.”

She shook her head playfully.

“What a darling match-making uncle it is!” she said, and then kissed him and ran away.

She thought of Gilbert Fenton a good deal during the rest of that day; thought that it was a pleasant thing to be loved so truly, and hoped that she might always have him for her friend.  When she went out to drink tea in the evening his image went with her; and she found herself making involuntary comparisons between a specimen of provincial youth whom she encountered at her friend’s house and Mr. Fenton, very much to the advantage of the Australian merchant.

While Marian Nowell was away at this little social gathering, Captain Sedgewick and Gilbert Fenton sat under the walnut-trees smoking their cigars, with a bottle of claret on a little iron table before them.