“Well, I have seen these people, I say; I have made a proposal of marriage between Harry and Alice, and that proposal is—­”

She paused, and looked around her with an air of triumph; but whether that look communicated the triumph of success, or that of her inveterate enmity and contempt for them ever since the death of old Hamilton, was as great a secret to them as the Bononian enigma.  There was a dead silence, much to her mortification, for she would have given a great deal that her husband had interrupted her just then, and taken her upon the wrong tack.

“Well,” she proceeded, “do you all wish to hear it?”

Lindsay put his forefinger on his lips, and nodded to all the rest to do the same.

“Ah, Lindsay,” she exclaimed, “you are an ill-minded man; but it matters not so far as you are concerned—­in three words, Harry, the proposal is accepted; yes, accepted, and with gratitude and thanksgiving.”

“And you had no quarrel?” said Lindsay, with astonishment; “nor you didn’t let out on them?  Well, well!”

“Children, I am addressing myself to you, and especially to Harry here, who is most interested; no, I see nothing to prevent us from having back the property and the curds-and-whey along with it.”

“Faith, and the curds-and-whey are the best part of it after all,” said Lindsay; “but, in the meantime, you might be a little more particular, and give us a touch of your own eloquence and ability in bringing it about.”

“What did Alice herself say, mother?” asked Charles; “was she a party to the consent? because, if she was, your triumph, or rather Harry’s here, is complete.”

“It is complete,” replied his mother, having recourse to a dishonest evasion; “the girl and her parents have but one opinion.  Indeed, I always did the poor thing the credit to believe that she never was capable of entertaining an opinion of her own, and it now turns out a very fortunate thing for Harry that it is so; but of course he has made an impression upon her.”

“As to that, mamma,” said Maria, “I don’t know—­he may, or he may not; but of this I am satisfied, that Alice Goodwin is a girl who can form an opinion for herself, and that, whatever that opinion be, she will neither change or abandon it upon slight grounds.  I know her well, but if she has consented to marry Harry she will marry him, and that is all that is to be said about it.”

“I thought she would,” said Harry; “I told you, Charley, that I didn’t think I was a fool—­didn’t I?”

“I know you did, Harry,” replied his brother; “but I don’t know how—­it strikes me that I would rather have any other man’s opinion on that subject than your own; however, time will tell.”

“It will tell, of course; and if it proves me a fool, I will give you leave to clap the fool’s cap on me for life.  And now that we have advanced so far and so well, I may go and take one of my evening strolls, in order to meditate on my approaching happiness.”  And he did so.