Gertrude, watching her sister, saw Charlotte flushing intensely, and Mr. Wentworth felt her pressing upon his arm.  “Heavenly Powers!” murmured Mr. Wentworth.  And it was the nearest approach to profanity he had ever made.

“That is very nice; that is very handsome!” Felix exclaimed.

“I don’t understand,” said Mr. Wentworth; though it was plain that every one else did.

“That is very beautiful, Mr. Brand,” said Gertrude, emulating Felix.

“I should like to marry you.  It will give me great pleasure.”

“As Gertrude says, it ’s a beautiful idea,” said Felix.

Felix was smiling, but Mr. Brand was not even trying to.  He himself treated his proposition very seriously.  “I have thought of it, and I should like to do it,” he affirmed.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring with expanded eyes.  Her imagination, as I have said, was not so rapid as her sister’s, but now it had taken several little jumps.  “Father,” she murmured, “consent!”

Mr. Brand heard her; he looked away.  Mr. Wentworth, evidently, had no imagination at all.  “I have always thought,” he began, slowly, “that Gertrude’s character required a special line of development.”

“Father,” repeated Charlotte, “consent.”

Then, at last, Mr. Brand looked at her.  Her father felt her leaning more heavily upon his folded arm than she had ever done before; and this, with a certain sweet faintness in her voice, made him wonder what was the matter.  He looked down at her and saw the encounter of her gaze with the young theologian’s; but even this told him nothing, and he continued to be bewildered.  Nevertheless, “I consent,” he said at last, “since Mr. Brand recommends it.”

“I should like to perform the ceremony very soon,” observed Mr. Brand, with a sort of solemn simplicity.

“Come, come, that ’s charming!” cried Felix, profanely.

Mr. Wentworth sank into his chair.  “Doubtless, when you understand it,” he said, with a certain judicial asperity.

Gertrude went to her sister and led her away, and Felix having passed his arm into Mr. Brand’s and stepped out of the long window with him, the old man was left sitting there in unillumined perplexity.

Felix did no work that day.  In the afternoon, with Gertrude, he got into one of the boats and floated about with idly-dipping oars.  They talked a good deal of Mr. Brand—­though not exclusively.

“That was a fine stroke,” said Felix.  “It was really heroic.”

Gertrude sat musing, with her eyes upon the ripples.  “That was what he wanted to be; he wanted to do something fine.”

“He won’t be comfortable till he has married us,” said Felix.  “So much the better.”

“He wanted to be magnanimous; he wanted to have a fine moral pleasure.  I know him so well,” Gertrude went on.  Felix looked at her; she spoke slowly, gazing at the clear water.  “He thought of it a great deal, night and day.  He thought it would be beautiful.  At last he made up his mind that it was his duty, his duty to do just that—­nothing less than that.  He felt exalted; he felt sublime.  That ’s how he likes to feel.  It is better for him than if I had listened to him.”