“She is very good to think so much of her uncle,” said the squire; and his words as he spoke them sounded very cold in Crosbie’s ears.  After that Crosbie said nothing about money, having to confess to himself that he was afraid to do so.  “And what would be the use?” said he to himself, wishing to make excuses for what he felt to be weak in his own conduct.  “If he should refuse to give her a shilling I could not go back from it now.”  And then some ideas ran across his mind as to the injustice to which men are subjected in this matter of matrimony.  A man has to declare himself before it is fitting that he should make any inquiry about a lady’s money; and then, when he has declared himself, any such inquiry is unavailing.  Which consideration somewhat cooled the ardour of his happiness.  Lily Dale was very pretty, very nice, very refreshing in her innocence, her purity, and her quick intelligence.  No amusement could be more deliciously amusing than that of making love to Lily Dale.  Her way of flattering her lover without any intention of flattery on her part, had put Crosbie into a seventh heaven.  In all his experience he had known nothing like it.  “You may be sure of this,” she had said,—­“I shall love you with all my heart and all my strength.”  It was very nice;—­but then what were they to live upon?  Could it be that he, Adolphus Crosbie, should settle down on the north side of the New Road, as a married, man, with eight hundred a year?  If indeed the squire would be as good to Lily as he had promised to be to Bell, then indeed things might be made to arrange themselves.

But there was no such drawback on Lily’s happiness.  Her ideas about money were rather vague, but they were very honest.  She knew she had none of her own, but supposed it was a husband’s duty to find what would be needful.  She knew she had none of her own, and was therefore aware that she ought not to expect luxuries in the little household that was to be prepared for her.  She hoped, for his sake, that her uncle might give some assistance, but was quite prepared to prove that she could be a good poor man’s wife.  In the old colloquies on such matters between her and her sister, she had always declared that some decent income should be considered as indispensable before love could be entertained.  But eight hundred a year had been considered as doing much more than fulfilling this stipulation.  Bell had high-flown notions as to the absolute glory of poverty.  She had declared that income should not be considered at all.  If she had loved a man, she could allow herself to be engaged to him, even though he had no income.  Such had been their theories; and as regarded money, Lily was quite contented with the way in which she had carried out her own.

In these beautiful days there was nothing to check her happiness.  Her mother and sister united in telling her that she had done well,—­that she was happy in her choice, and justified in her love.  On that first day, when she told her mother all, she had been made exquisitely blissful by the way in which her tidings had been received.