But the young people were quite as obstinate as the old man. George would make no concession whatever to his uncle. He was ready to marry on love and a small income, and he expected Caroline to show an equal warmth. Caroline would by no means alter her views, or risk the misery of an ill-provided nursery. It had been the one great resolve of her life, that she would not be a poor man's wife. "She was ready to wait," she said. "If she could trust and wait, surely George might do so. A man, with all the world around him, encountered neither the misery nor the risk in waiting that fell to a girl's lot."
The disputes incidental to these different opinions did not ever take place between George and Caroline. He, from a feeling of chivalry, abstained from discussing money matters with her; and she, from a feeling of prudence, was equally silent with him. Poor Miss Baker was the medium for it all. George of course would press with a lover's ardour for an early day; and Caroline would of course say that an immediate marriage was, she found, impracticable. And then each would refer the other to Miss Baker.
Things went on in this way till the middle of May. Sometimes George was almost angry, and wrote letters that were somewhat savage; sometimes Caroline would be haughty, and then she too could write letters which would tell her mind in good plain set terms. But they were not near enough, or sufficiently often with each other, to quarrel.
So matters went on till May; and then, on one fine May-day, Harcourt and George together took their places in the train for Littlebath.
"I wonder what you'll think of her?" said George. "Of course you'll tell the truth?"
"Oh, of course," said Harcourt, with his mind duly made up to praise her.
"You haven't the pluck to find fault with her," said George; "you would be afraid not to call her handsome, even if you thought her as ugly as Hecate."
"Exactly," said Harcourt; "and therefore these little experimentary trips are never of any use."