“Of course I must be very anxious, but I find it not so easy as I expected.”

“You know what I said, Adolphus.  I said that I thought we had better wait.  I’m sure mamma thinks so.  And if we can only see you now and then—­”

“That will be a matter of course.  But, as I was saying—­Let me see.  Yes,—­all that waiting will be intolerable to me.  It is such a bore for a man when he has made up his mind on such a matter as marriage, not to make the change at once, especially when he is going to take to himself such a little angel as you are,” and as he spoke these loving words, his arm was again put round her waist; “but—­” and then he stopped.  He wanted to make her understand that this change of intention on his part was caused by the unexpected misconduct of her uncle.  He desired that she should know exactly how the matter stood; that he had been led to suppose that her uncle would give her some small fortune, that he had been disappointed, and had a right to feel the disappointment keenly; and that in consequence of this blow to his expectations, he must put off his marriage.  But he wished her also to understand at the same time that this did not in the least mar his love for her; that he did not join her at all in her uncle’s fault.  All this he was anxious to convey to her, but he did not know how to get it said in a manner that would not be offensive to her personally, and that should not appear to accuse himself of sordid motives.  He had begun by declaring that he would tell her all; but sometimes it is not easy, that task of telling a person everything.  There are things which will not get themselves told.

“You mean, dearest,” said she, “that you cannot afford to marry at once.”

“Yes; that is it.  I had expected that I should be able, but—­”

Did any man in love ever yet find himself able to tell the lady whom he loved that he was very much disappointed on discovering that she had got no money?  If so, his courage, I should say, was greater than his love.  Crosbie found himself unable to do it, and thought himself cruelly used because of the difficulty.  The delay to which he intended to subject her was occasioned, as he felt, by the squire, and not by himself.  He was ready to do his part, if only the squire had been willing to do the part which properly belonged to him.  The squire would not; and, therefore, neither could he,—­not as yet.  Justice demanded that all this should be understood; but when he came to the telling of it, he found that the story would not form itself properly.  He must let the thing go, and bear the injustice, consoling himself as best he might by the reflection that he at least was behaving well in the matter.

“It won’t make me unhappy, Adolphus.”

“Will it not?” said he.  “As regards myself, I own that I cannot bear the delay with so much indifference.”