The three years had in his imagination been easily reduced to one, which was still, as he thought, an impossible time for waiting.  By degrees it came down to six months in his imagination, and now to three, resulting in an idea that they might be easily married early in June, so as to have the whole of the summer before them for their wedding-tour.  “Mother,” he said, “I shall be off to-morrow.”

“To Cheltenham?”

“Yes, to Cheltenham.  What is the good of waiting.  I think a girl may be too obedient to her mother.”

“It is a fine feeling, which you will be glad to remember that she possessed.”

“Supposing that you had declared that Molly shouldn’t have married Joe Thoroughbung?”

“Molly has got a father,” said Mrs. Annesley.

“Suppose she had none?”

“I cannot suppose anything so horrible.”

“As if you and he had joined together to forbid Molly.”

“But we didn’t.”

“I think a girl may carry it too far,” said Harry.  “Mrs. Mountjoy has committed herself to Mountjoy Scarborough, and will not go back from her word.  He has again come back to the fore, and out of a ruined man has appeared as the rich proprietor of the town of Tretton.  Of course the mother hangs on to him still.”

“You don’t think Florence will change?”

“Not in the least.  I’m not a bit afraid of Mountjoy Scarborough and all his property; but I can see that she may be subjected to much annoyance from which I ought to extricate her.”

“What can you do, Harry?”

“Go and tell her so.  Make her understand that she should put herself into my hands at once, and that I could protect her.”

“Take her away from her mother by force?” said Mrs. Annesley, with horror.

“If she were once married her mother would think no more about it.  I don’t believe that Mrs. Mountjoy has any special dislike to me.  She thinks of her own nephew, and as long as Florence is Florence Mountjoy there will be for her the chance.  I know that he has no chance; and I don’t think that I ought to leave her there to be bullied for some endless period of time.  Think of three years,—­of dooming a girl to live three years without ever seeing her lover!  There is an absurdity about it which is revolting.  I shall go down to-morrow and see if I cannot put a stop to it.”  To this the mother could make no objection, though she could express no approval of a project under which Florence was to be made to marry without her mother’s consent.

CHAPTER LX.

MR. SCARBOROUGH IS BURIED.

When Mr. Scarborough died, and when he had been buried, his son Mountjoy was left alone at Tretton, living in a very desolate manner.  Till the day of the funeral, Merton, the doctor, had remained with him and his aunt, Miss Scarborough; but when the old squire had been laid in his grave they both departed.  Miss Scarborough was afraid of her nephew, and could not look forward to living comfortably at the big house; and Dr. Merton had the general work of his life to call him away.  “You might as well stay for another week,” Mountjoy had said to him.  But Merton had felt that he could not remain at Tretton without some especial duty, and he too went his way.