“You are quite sure you don’t know what you want to marry him for?” said Mrs. Snow, with a roguish twinkle in her eye.  “You are quite sure you don’t love him?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Miss Butterworth.  “It’s something.  I wish you could hear him talk.  His grammar would kill you.  It would just kill you.  You’d never breathe after it.  Such awful nominative cases as that man has!  And you can’t beat him out of them.  And such a pronunciation!  His words are just as rough as he is, and just like him.  They seem to have a great deal more meaning in them than they do when they have good clothes on.  You don’t know how I enjoy hearing him talk.”

“I’m inclined to think you love him,” said Mrs. Snow, smiling.

“I don’t know.  Isn’t it the most ridiculous thing, now?”

“No; it isn’t ridiculous at all,” said Mrs. Snow, soberly.

Miss Butterworth’s moon was sailing high that evening.  There were but few clouds in her heaven, but occasionally a tender vapor passed across the silver disk, and one passed at this moment.  Her eyes were loaded with tears as she looked up in Mrs. Snow’s face, and said: 

“I was very lonely, you know.  Life had become very tame, and I saw nothing before me different from my daily experience, which had grown to be wearisome.  Jim came and opened a new life to me, offered me companionship, new circumstances, new surroundings.  It was like being born again.  And, do you know, I don’t think it is natural for a woman to carry her own life.  I got very tired of mine, and when this strong man came, and was willing to take it up, and bear it for me as the greatest pleasure I could bestow upon him, what could I do—­now, what could I do?  I don’t think I’m proud of him, but I belong to him, and I’m glad; and that’s all there is about it;” and Miss Butterworth sprang to her feet as if she were about to leave the house.

“You are not going,” said Mrs. Snow, catching her by both shoulders, “so sit down.”

“I’ve told you the whole:  there’s nothing more.  I suppose it will be a great wonder to the Sevenoaks people, and that they’ll think I’m throwing myself away, but I do hope they will let me alone.”

“When are you to be married?”

“In the spring.”

“Where?”

“Oh! anywhere.  No matter where.  I haven’t thought about that part of it.”

“Then you’ll be married right here, in this house.  You shall have a nice little wedding.”

“Oh! and orange-blossoms!” exclaimed Miss Snow, clapping her hands.

“And a veil!” added Number Two.

“And a—­” Number Three was not so familiar with such occasions as to be able to supply another article, so she clapped her hands.

They were all in a delicious flutter.  It would be so nice to have a wedding in the house!  It was a good sign.  Did the young ladies think that it might break a sort of electric spell that hung over the parsonage, and result in a shower which would float them all off?  Perhaps so.  They were, at least, very happy about it.