“You are right, Mrs. Lindsay,” said Goodwin, “in saying that few women are worthy of your eldest son; he is a most gentlemanly, and evidently a most accomplished young man; his conversation at breakfast here the morning after the storm was so remarkable, both for good sense and good feeling, that I am not surprised at your friendly visit today, Mrs. Lindsay.  He was sent, I hope, to introduce a spirit of peace and concord between us, and God forbid that we should repel it; on the contrary, we hail his mediation with delight, and feel deeply indebted to him for placing both families in their original position.”

“I trust in a better position,” replied his adroit mother; “I trust in a better position, Mr. Goodwin, and a still nearer and dearer connection.  It is better, however, to speak out; you know me of old, my dear friends, and that I am blunt and straightforward—­as the proverb has it, ‘I think what I say, and I say what I think.’  This visit, then, is made, as I said, not only by my own wish, but at the express entreaty of my son Harry, and the great delight of the whole family; there is therefore no use in concealing the fact—­he is deeply attached to your daughter, Alice, and was from the first moment he saw her;—­of course you now understand my mission—­which is, in fact, to make a proposal of marriage in his name, and to entreat your favorable consideration of it, as well as your influence in his behalf with Alice herself.”

“Well, I declare, Mrs. Lindsay,” replied Mrs. Goodwin, (God forgive her!) “you have taken us quite by surprise—­you have indeed;—­dear me—­I’m quite agitated; but he is, indeed, a fine young man—­a perfect gentleman in his manners, and if he be as good as he looks—­for marriage, God help us, tries us all—­”

“I hope it never tried you much, Martha,” replied her husband, smiling.

“No, my dear, I don’t say so.  Still, when the happiness of one’s child is concerned—­and such a child as Alice—­”

“But consider, Mrs. Goodwin,” replied the ambassadress, who, in fact, was not far from an explosion at what she considered a piece of contemptible vacillation on the part of her neighbor—­“consider, Mrs. Goodwin,” said she, “that the happiness of my son is concerned.”

“I know it is,” she replied; “but speak to her father, Mrs. Lindsay—­he, as such, is the proper person—­O, dear me.”

“Well, Mr. Goodwin—­you have heard what I have said?”

“I have, madam,” said he; “but thank God I am not so nervous as my good wife here.  I like your son, Harry, very much, from what I have seen of him—­and, to be plain with you, I really see no objection to such a match.  On the contrary, it will promote peace and good-will between us; and, I have no doubt, will prove a happy event to the parties most concerned.”

“O, there is not a doubt of it,” exclaimed Mrs. Goodwin, now chiming in with her husband; “no, there can be no doubt of it.  O, they will be very happy together, and that will be so delightful.  My darling Alice!”—­and here she became pathetic, and shed tears copiously—­“yes,” she added, “we will lose you, my darling, and a lonely house we will have after you, for I suppose they will live in the late Mr. Hamilton’s residence, on their own property.”