There was a great consultation.  Elvira was not in the least shy, and only wanted to be safely Mrs. Allen Brownlow before the Goulds should arrive, as she expected, in the next steamer to pursue her vi et armis.  If it had depended on her, she would have sent Allen for a special licence, and been married in her travelling dress that very day.  Mr. Wakefield, solicitor as he was, was quite ready for speed.  He had always viewed the marriage with Allen Brownlow as a simple act of restitution, and the trust made settlements needless.  Still he did not apprehend any danger from the Goulds, when he found that Elvira had never written a note to Gilbert in her life.  Nay, he thought that if they even threatened any annoyance, they had given cause enough to have a prosecution for conspiracy held over them in wholesome terror.

And considering all the circumstances, Mrs. Brownlow and Allen were alike determined against undignified haste.  Miss Menella ought to be married from among her own kindred, and from her own house; but this was not easy to manage; for poor Mary Whiteside and her husband, though very worthy, were not exactly the people to enact parents in such a house as Belforest; and Mrs. Brownlow could see why she herself should not, though Elvira could not think why she objected.  At last the idea was started that the fittest persons were Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield.  The latter was a thorough lady, pleasant and sensible.  The only doubt was whether so very quiet a person could be asked to undertake such an affair, and her husband took leave, that he might consult her and see whether she could bring herself to be mother for the nonce to the wild heiress, of whom his family were wont to talk with horrified compassion.

When he was gone, it was possible to come to the examination upon Janet for which Mother Carey had been so anxious.  How was she looking?

“Oh! so old, and worn and thin.  I never should have guessed it was Janet, if I had not caught her eye, and then I knew her eyebrows and nose, because they are just like Allen’s,-—and her voice sounded so like home that I was ready to cry, only I did not dare, as Gilbert was there.”

“I wonder they did not take alarm at her name.”

“I don’t imagine they ever heard it.”

“Not when she was living there?  Was not her husband practising?”

“Her husband!  Oh no, I never heard any thing about him.  I thought you knew I found her at the photographer’s?”

“Met her as a sitter?”

“Oh dear, no!  I thought you understood.  It was she that was doing my picture.  She finishes up all his miniature photographs.”

“My dear Elvira, do you really mean that my poor Janet is supporting herself in that way?”

“Yes, indeed I do; that was why I made sure she would have come home with me.  I was so dreadfully disappointed when I found only her note.”

And are you sure you have quite lost it?”