"Can't I?"
"What were you thanking the Lord for so heartily?"
"For you."
"Were you? That is the sweetest thing you have said yet. My own;—my darling;—my dearest! If only I can so live that you may be able to thank the Lord for me in years to come!"
I will not trouble the reader with all that was said at every stile. No doubt very much of what has been told was repeated again and again so that the walk round the park was abnormally long. At last, however, they reached the house, and as they entered the hall, Mary whispered to him, "Who is to tell your aunt?" she said.
"Come along," he replied striding upstairs to his aunt's bedroom, where he knew she would be at this time. He opened the door without any notice and, having waited till Mary had joined him, led her forcibly into the middle of the room. "Here she is," he said;—"my wife elect."
"Oh, Reginald!"
"We have managed it all, and there needn't be any more said about it except to settle the day. Mary has been looking about the house and learning her duty already. She'll be able to have every bedstead and every chair by heart, which is an advantage ladies seldom possess." Then Mary rushed forward and was received into the old woman's arms.
When Reginald left them, which he did very soon after the announcement was made, Lady Ushant had a great deal to say. "I have been thinking of it, my dear,—oh,—for years;—ever since he came to Hoppet Hall. But I am sure the best way is never to say anything. If I had interfered there is no knowing how it might have been."
"Then, dear Lady Ushant, I am so glad you didn't," said Mary,—being tolerably sure at the same time within her own bosom that her loving old friend could have done no harm in that direction.