“The way you took it, Howard,” he said, “was a perfect model of delicacy and highmindedness!  Why, if I had dreamed that you cared for my little girl, I would have said, and truly said, that the dearest wish of my heart had been fulfilled.  But one is blind, a parent is blind; and I had somehow imagined you as too sedate, as altogether too much advanced in thought and experience, for such a thing.  I would rather have bitten out my tongue than spoken as I did to you.  It is exactly what my dear girl needs, some one who is older and wiser than herself—­she needs some one to look up to, to revere; she is thoughtful and anxious beyond her years, and she is made to repose confidence in a mind more mature.  I do not deny, of course, that your position at Windlow makes the arrangement a still more comfortable one; but I have always said that my children must marry whom they would; and I should have welcomed you, my dear Howard, as a son-in-law, under any circumstances.”

Jack, on the contrary, was rather more cautious in his congratulations.  “I am all for things being fixed up as people like,” he said, “and I am sure it’s a good match for Maud, and all that.  But I can’t put the two ends together.  I never supposed that you would fall in love, any more than that my father would marry again; and when it comes to your falling in love with Maud—­well, if you knew that girl as I do, you would think twice!  I can’t conceive what you will ever have to talk about, unless you make her do essays.  It is really rather embarrassing to have a Don for a brother-in-law.  I feel as if I should have to say ‘we’ when I talked to the other Dons, and I shall be regarded with suspicion by the rest of the men.  But of course you have my blessing, if you will do it; though if you like to cry off, even now, I will try to keep the peace.  I feel rather an ass to have said that about Fred Guthrie; but of course he is hard hit, and I can’t think how I shall ever be able to look him in the face.  What bothers me is that I never saw how things were going.  Well, may it be long before I find myself in the same position!  But you are welcome to Missy, if you think you can make anything of her.”

Mrs. Graves did little more than express her delight.  “It was what I somehow hoped from the first for both of you,” she said.

“Well,” said Howard, “the only thing that puzzles me is that when you saw—­yes, I am sure you saw—­what was happening, you didn’t make a sign.”

“No,” said Mrs. Graves, “that is just what one can’t do!  I didn’t doubt that it would come right, I guessed what Maud felt; but you had to find the way to her yourself.  I was sure of Maud, you see; but I was not quite sure of you.  It does not do to try experiments, dear Howard, with forces as strong as love; I knew that if I told you how things stood, you would have felt bound out of courtesy and kindness to speak, and that would have been no good.  If it is illegal to help a man to commit suicide, it is worse, it is wicked to push a man into marriage; but I am a very happy woman now—­so happy that I am almost afraid.”