“Both of which I have proved myself devoid of, I suppose?  Thank you.”  She threw her arms round his neck, kissed him once or twice, and laughingly added:  “Come now, Uncle Guy, tell me what these ‘phalanxes,’ as you call them, have to do with Ernest’s text?”

“I really cannot inform you.  There is the dinner bell.”  Unclasping her arms, he led the way to the dining room.

Later in the afternoon Mr. Lockhart retired to his own room; his wife fell asleep on the sofa, and Beulah and Pauline sat at the parlor window, discussing the various occurrences of their long separation.  Pauline talked of her future—­how bright it was; how very much she and Ernest loved each other, and how busy she would be when she had a home of her own.  She supposed she would be obliged to give up dancing; she had an indistinct idea that preachers’ wives were not in the habit of indulging in any such amusements, and, as for the theater and opera, she rather doubted whether either were to be found in the inland town where she was to reside.  Uncle Guy wished to furnish the parsonage, and, among other things, had ordered an elegant piano for her; she intended to practice a great deal, because Ernest was so fond of music.  Uncle Guy had a hateful habit of lecturing her about “domestic affairs,” but she imagined the cook would understand her own business; and if Mr. Mortimor supposed she was going to play housemaid, why, she would very soon undeceive him.  Beulah was much amused at the childlike simplicity with which she discussed her future, and began to think the whole affair rather ludicrous, when Pauline started, and exclaimed, as the blood dyed her cheeks: 

“There is Ernest coming up the walk!”

He came in, and greeted her with gentle gravity.  He was a dignified, fine-looking man, with polished manners and perfect self-possession.  There was no trace of austerity in his countenance, and nothing in his conversation betokening a desire to impress strangers with his ministerial dignity.  He was highly cultivated in all his tastes, agreeable, and, in fine, a Christian gentleman.  Pauline seemed to consider his remarks oracular, and Beulah could not forbear contrasting her quietness in his presence with the wild, frolicsome recklessness which characterized her manner on other occasions.  She wondered what singular freak induced this staid, learned clergyman to select a companion so absolutely antagonistic in every element of character.  But a glance at Pauline’s perfectly beautiful face explained the mystery.  How could anyone help loving her, she was so radiant and so winning in her unaffected artlessness?