“What a goose you are.  Do you know I’m not sure that if you really love a person, and are quite confident about him—­as I am of you—­that having to look forward to being married is not the best part of it all.  I suppose you’ll like to get my letters now, but I don’t know that you’ll care for them much when we’ve been man and wife for ten years.”

“But one can’t live upon letters.”

“I shall expect you to live upon mine, and to grow fat on them.  There; I heard papa’s step on the stairs.  He said you were to go to him.  Good-by, Harry—­dearest Harry!  What a blessed wind it was that blew you here.”

“Stop a moment; about your getting to Clavering.  I shall come for you on Easter eve.”

“Oh, no; why should you have so much trouble and expense?”

“I tell you I shall come for you—­unless, indeed, you decline to travel with me.”

“It will be so nice!  And then I shall be sure to have you with me the first moment I see them.  I shall think it very awful when I first meet your father.”

“He’s the most good-natured man, I should say, in England.”

“But he’ll think me so plain.  You did at first, you know.  But he won’t be uncivil enough to tell me so, as you did.  And Mary is to be married in Easter week?  Oh, dear, oh, dear; I shall be so shy among them all.”

“You shy!  I never saw you shy in my life.  I don’t suppose you were ever really put out yet.”

“But I must really put you out, because papa is waiting for you.  Dear, dear, dearest Harry.  Though I am so patient I shall count the hours till you come for me.  Dearest Harry!” Then she bore with him, as he pressed her close to his bosom, and kissed her lips, and her forehead, and her glossy hair.  When he was gone, she sat down alone for a few minutes on the old sofa, and hugged herself in her happiness.  What a happy wind that had been which had blown such a lover as that for her to Stratton!

“I think he’s a good young man,” said Mrs. Burton, as soon as she was left with her old husband up stairs.

“Yes, he’s a good young man.  He means very well.”

“But he is not idle; is he?”

“No—­no:  he’s not idle.  And he’s very clever—­too clever, I’m afraid.  But I think he’ll do well, though it may take him some time to settle.”

“It seems so natural, his taking to Flo; doesn’t it?  They’ve all taken one when they went away, and they’ve all done very well.  Deary me; how sad the house will be when Flo has gone.”

“Yes—­it’ll make a difference that way.  But what then?  I wouldn’t wish to keep one of ’em at home for that reason.”

“No, indeed.  I think I’d feel ashamed of myself to have a daughter not married, or not in the way to be married afore she’s thirty.  I couldn’t bear to think that no young man should take a fancy to a girl of mine.  But Flo’s not twenty yet, and Carry, who was the oldest to go, wasn’t four-and-twenty when Scarness took her.”  Thereupon the old lady put her handkerchief to the corner of her eyes, and wept gently.