"Gentle fisher-maiden," sang Prescott. "But she's a sweet thing, and deserves all the happiness she can get. I think she's found the right man to give it her too. His Lordship and I did a very good thing when we spliced them up. I'm all for making everybody happy."
Jimmy Beckley had a word or two of wisdom to impart on the subject of the marriage. He would have liked to impart them to Beatrix herself, but found it impossible, as he had rather feared, to get her apart; so he asked Barbara to come for a stroll with him, and she consented, having a fair idea of what the invitation portended, and expecting to draw amusement from it.
"You know," said Jimmy, when they were out of earshot of the crowd, "a wedding of this sort is a jolly moving thing. I wouldn't say that to everybody, because the general idea is to keep grinning all the time, and advise the young couple to keep clear of squalls. But I believe you can see further into things than most people, Barbara, though I shouldn't have said it of you a year ago."
"I'm glad you've noticed the change in me," said Barbara, with suspicious humility. "Of course I was a child a year ago; now I'm a woman, and better company for people of intelligence."
"That's quite true," said Jimmy. "I can talk to you now about things I should never have thought of mentioning to you last year. I can tell you, Barbara, that this marriage of B's has made me see a good many things in a different light. When you see a girl like that—bright and taking and pretty—pledging herself to a man for life—and doing it before an old Bishop of course makes it all the more jolly—it makes you think that a lot of the business that's talked about love—well, the Johnnies who talk about it don't know as much as they think. That's how it struck me in the church just now, 'specially when the old bird spouted that bit about for richer and poorer, and in sickness and in health and all that. I don't know whether you felt something of the same. I expect you did. You've got a heart; I know that, though everybody might not twig it."
"Thank you, Jimmy," said Barbara. "Yes, I felt much the same as you say you did. It made me think that there was no sense in wasting yourself over a lot of idle fancies. Much better wait till exactly the right man comes along, and give him everything."
"H'm! Well!" said Jimmy, evidently somewhat at a loss. "But you haven't had much time for idle fancies."
"Oh, I don't know," said Barbara. "I wouldn't tell it to everybody, but I know it's safe with you. You understand these things. I— No, I can't after all. Please forget what I said, Jimmy. There is nobody; nobody at all; and if there were, you're the last person I should confess it to."
"My dear child," said Jimmy, "you've said what you have said, and I'm very glad you've said it to me. There's nothing to be ashamed of. I suppose what you mean is that you've taken a fancy to some fellow and don't like to acknowledge it because you think it mayn't be returned."