"Oh, no! indeed you are not," says Mrs. Arlington. "Well, yes,"—drawing a long breath,—"I forgive you; but promise, promise you will never distrust me again."
Of course he gives the required promise, and peace is once more restored.
"I shall not be content with an engagement any longer," Cyril says, presently. "I consider it eminently unsatisfactory. Why not marry me at once? I have nine hundred a year, and a scrap of an estate a few miles from this,—by the bye, you have never yet been to see your property,—and, if you are not afraid to venture, I think we might be very happy, even on that small sum."
"I am not afraid of anything with you," she says, in her calm, tender fashion; "and money has nothing to do with it. If," with a troubled sigh, "I ever marry you, I shall not come to you empty-handed."
"'If: dost thou answer me with ifs?'" quotes he, gayly. "I tell you, sweet, there is no such word in my dictionary. I shall only wait a favorable opportunity to ask my mother's consent to our marriage."
"And if she refuses it?"
"Why, then I shall marry you without hers, or yours, or the consent of any one in the world."
"You jest," she says, tears gathering in her large appealing eyes. "I would not have you make your mother miserable."
"Above all things, do not let me see tears in your eyes again," he says, quickly. "I forbid it. For one thing, it makes me wretched, and"—softly—"it makes me feel sure you are wretched, which is far worse. Cecilia, if you don't instantly dry those tears I shall be under the painful necessity of kissing them away. I tell you I shall get my mother's consent very readily. When she sees you, she will be only too proud to welcome such a daughter."
Soon after this they part, more in love with each other than ever.