So Josepha ran away, and she took her niece with her. They reached London in time to see the reopening of Parliament, and Mrs. Temple’s cards for dinner were in the hands of her favorites within two weeks afterwards. Katherine was delighted to be the secretary for such writing, and she entered heartily into her aunt’s plans for a busy, social winter. They chose the parties to carry out their pleasant ideas together, and as Kitty was her aunt’s secretary, it soon became evident to both that the name of Edward Selby was never omitted. One or other of the ladies always suggested it, and the proposal was readily accepted.
“He is a fine young man,” said Josepha, “and their bank hes a sound enviable reputation. I intend, for the future, to deposit largely there, and it is mebbe a good plan to keep in social touch with your banker.”
“And he is very pleasant to dance with,” added Kitty, “he keeps step with you, and a girl looks her best with him; and then he is not always paying you absurd compliments.”
“A varry sensible partner.”
“I think so.”
And during the long pleasant winter this satisfaction with Selby grew to a very sweet and even intense affection. The previous winter Harry Bradley had stood in his way, but the path of love now ran straight and smooth, and no one had any power to trouble it. Selby was so handsome, so deeply in love, so desirable in every way, that Katherine knew herself to be the most fortunate of women. She was now also in love, really in love. Her affection for her child lover had faded even out of her memory. Compared with her passion for Selby, it was indeed a child love, just a sentimental dream, nursed by contiguity, and the tolerance and talk of elder people. Nothing deceives the young like the idea of first love—a conquering idea if a true one, a pretty dangerous mirage, if it is not true.
While this affair was progressing delightfully in London things were not standing still in Annis. The weather had been singularly propitious, and the great, many-windowed building was beginning to show the length and breadth of its intentions. Meanwhile Squire Annis was the busiest and happiest man in all Yorkshire, and Annie was rejoicing in the restored peace and order of her household. It did not seem that there could now have been any cause of anxiety in the old Annis home. But there was a little. Dick longed to have a more decided understanding concerning his own marriage, but the squire urged him not to think of marriage until the mill was opened and at work and Dick was a loyal son, as well as a true lover. He knew also that in many important ways he had become a great help to his father, and that if he took the long journey he intended to take with his bride, his absence would be both a trial and a positive loss in more ways than one. The situation was trying to all concerned, but both Faith and her father made it pleasant and hopeful, so that generally speaking his soul walked in a straight way. Sometimes he asked his father with one inquiring look, “How long, father, how long now?” And the squire had hitherto always under’ stood the look, and answered promptly, “Not just yet, dear lad, not just yet!”
Josepha and Katherine had returned from London. So continually the days grew longer, and brighter, and warmer, and the roses came and sent perfume through the whole house, as the small group of women made beautiful garments, and talked and wondered, and speculated; and the squire and Dick grew more and more reticent about the mill and its progress, until one night, early in July, they came home together, and the very sound of their footsteps held a happy story. Josepha understood it. She threw down the piece of muslin in her hand and stood up listening. The next moment the squire and his son entered the room together. “What is it, Antony?” she cried eagerly. “The mill?”
“The mill is finished! The mill is perfect! We can start work to-morrow morning if we wish. It is thy doing!” Then he turned to his wife, and opened his arms, and whispered his joy to her, and Annie’s cheeks were wet when they both turned to Katherine.
And that day the women did not sew another stitch.