"And so I thought; indeed I did. But when he told me how it was with him, I knew at once that I had only one answer to give. No other answer was possible. I love him better than anyone else in all the world. I feel that I can promise to be his wife without the least reserve or fear. I don't know why it should be so; but it is. I know I am right in this." Aunt Sarah still stood silent, meditating. "Don't you think I was right, feeling as I do, to tell him so? I had before become certain, quite, quite certain that it was impossible to give any other answer but one to Mr. Gilmore. Dearest aunt, do speak to me."
"I do not know what you will have to live upon."
"It is settled, you know, that he will save four or five thousand pounds out of his money, and I have got twelve hundred. It is not much, but it will be just something. Of course he will remain in the army, and I shall be a soldier's wife. I shall think nothing of going out to India, if he wishes it; but I don't think he means that. Dear Aunt Sarah, do say one word of congratulation."
Aunt Sarah did not know how to congratulate her niece. It seemed to her that any congratulation must be false and hypocritical. To her thinking, it would be a most unfitting match. It seemed to her that such an engagement had been most foolish. She was astonished at Mary's weakness, and was indignant with Walter Marrable. As regarded Mary, though she had twice uttered a word or two, intended as a caution, yet she had never thought it possible that a girl so steady in her ordinary demeanour, so utterly averse to all flirtation, so little given to the weakness of feminine susceptibility, would fall at once into such a quagmire of indiscreet love-troubles. The caution had been intended, rather in regard to outward appearances, and perhaps with the view of preventing the possibility of some slight heart-scratches, than with the idea that danger of this nature was to be dreaded. As Mr. Gilmore was there as an acknowledged suitor,—a suitor, as to whose ultimate success Aunt Sarah had her strong opinions,—it would be well those cousinly-brotherly associations and confidences should not become so close as to create possible embarrassment. Such had been the nature of Aunt Sarah's caution; and now,—in the course of a week or two,—when the young people were in truth still strangers to each other,—when Mr. Gilmore was still waiting for his answer,—Mary came to her, and told her that the engagement was a thing completed! How could she utter a word of congratulation?
"You mean, then, to say that you disapprove of it?" said Mary, almost sternly.
"I cannot say that I think it wise."
"I am not speaking of wisdom. Of course, Mr. Gilmore is very much richer, and all that."
"You know, Mary, that I would not counsel you to marry a man because he was rich."
"That is what you mean when you tell me I am not wise. I tried it,—with all the power of thought and calculation that I could give to it, and I found that I could not marry Mr. Gilmore."
"I am not speaking about that now."