never part with her. It would quite break my heart. And yet,—if she loves him, as he says she does! It's my fault—it's all my fault for bringing him into the house. But I was so fond of him; I took to him quite as a boy somehow. I never had a son of my own; and he was such a bright, noble, handsome boy. Well, suppose he did quarrel with his father, the old man would be provoking enough when he chose, and irritating enough as I very well know; and if he did leave home, and go a little wrong, and wild, and madcap, whose fault was it I should like to know? hardly all his own, hardly that. And he's poor now; people can't well say—yet they will, I feel sure—that he's much of a match for Violet, or any very great catch for her. Can I consent? Shall I give him my dear, good daughter—the little rogue—so quiet, and demure, and delicate, and in love all the while with this great, grim-looking man? Can I give her to him? Does he deserve it? Is he worthy of her? Well, well. Perhaps no man ever is quite worthy of a woman so pure and good as Violet is; at least I have never met such a one. It's very hard to know what to do. And if it should offend the people at the Grange! O! we must be very careful about that. I must talk to Mrs. Stephen about it. I must be sure to ask her opinion upon the subject."
There was a tap at the door.
"May I come in?"
"Who's there?" And Violet entered.
"What's all this about, Vi? Is it true? I see it is. You love him? O Violet!" She could only throw her arms round his neck, and kiss him impetuously.
"But we must do nothing without Mrs. Stephen, Violet. Her consent is even more important than mine."
"She is in the drawing-room, and she knows all," whispered Violet.
There was the rustle of silk skirts, and Mrs. Stephen entered, bringing Madge with her.
"Dear me! what a crowd in the surgery!—for heaven's sake take care of the bottles!"
"O Mr. Fuller, I'm so delighted at what I have heard! You can't think how pleased I am. My dear Violet—my dear Madge." And thereupon the three ladies embraced each other affectionately, as the manner of their sex is in such cases. Men celebrate festive occasions with bottles of wine—women, with numberless kisses.
"You give your consent, Mr. Fuller?"
"I don't know what to say about it."
"Oh, but you must. They love each other. Never was there a marriage that promised to be happier."
"But it comes upon me so suddenly! I've had no time to think about it at all. And Violet's very young. And Wilford's little better than an invalid. There can be no hurry. Yes; they must wait."
"Wait?" repeated Wilford, joining the group.
"Yes, a year; they must wait a year," the doctor said, determinedly.
"A year!" And Wilford glanced suspiciously round him, as though he dreaded that an intention existed to cheat him of his happiness.
"A year will soon fly away," Mrs. Stephen suggested, smilingly.
"Be it so," Wilford said, suddenly. "Yes, be it so; perhaps it will be better."
Had Violet looked to him to resist that postponement? If so, she acquiesced very soon in the arrangement. She came quite close to him.
"And if you must go, Wilford, if you must leave us for the present, you will write to me—you will be sure to—you will write very often?"
"I will be sure to, Violet."
The doctor looked almost scared at what he had done. He still seemed to cling to the status quo, like a timid bather afraid to let go the rope.
"But we must have Stephen's consent, remember, his unqualified consent."
"I'll answer for Stephen," said Gertrude Hadfield; and she whispered to the doctor, "Do you know, doctor, we were not unprepared for this? Steenie and I have often talked it over, hoping that it might come about. I thought of it directly I found Wilford recovering."
"The deuce you did," muttered Mr. Fuller. "Why it seems that everybody was prepared for it, and thought of it, excepting myself; I begin to think I grow thick-headed as I get older."
Madge thought her father looked rather melancholy. She went up and kissed him.
"You know, papa, I shall be left at home to take care of you, and attend to the house, and make tea and keep the keys of the store-room."
"Yes, Madge, and eat the jam in it," and Mr. Fuller shook his head in half-comical despair.
"Oh, but I shall be a year older," said Madge, with a blush, "and perhaps I shan't be so fond of jam then as I am now."
"Yes, there's a year to come—that's some comfort," groaned the doctor.
Mrs. Stephen drove back to the Grange in her pony-carriage. She soon apprised her husband of all that had happened at the cottage.
"I'm sure it's a very happy thing," Mrs. Stephen commented; "Wilford ought to marry—of course he ought. Men ought all to marry. I'm sure it would be much better for them, and they would be a great deal happier, and it would keep them out of harm's way. I'm sure there wouldn't be half so much mischief, and irregularity, and wickedness in the world if there were more marriages." (Mrs. Stephen had tried the specific and found it answer in her own case. ) "Wilford ought to consider himself very fortunate in having secured such a charming girl as Vi Fuller. Perhaps it would have been different if your father's will hadn't been what it was; of course then—"
"Hush, my dear, don't say anything about that—it should not have altered the case."
"I mean that then he might have looked higher. But she'll make him an admirable wife, and he'll forget all his troubles, and leave off moping and being miserable, and the rest of it. Was that one of the children crying?"
"No, my dear; besides, if it was, Nurse can see to it. I hope you have not over-exerted yourself," &c., &c.
