“Read it,” he said, “when you are alone.”
Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Six.
At the New Home.
Parted at last, for Harry had seen father and daughter into an omnibus, one which must have been Ben Jonson’s “chariot at hand here of love, in which my lady rideth,” and drawn by swans or doves, instead of a jangling piece of wood and iron work, with a wretched knacker on either side of the pole. How memory, though, dwelt upon her whose soft kiss—the first—was yet dewy sweet upon his lips—upon his, for she was his promised wife; and as he passed through the streets, walking as if upon air, flushed, proud, happy, he saw nothing but the bright future his fancy painted.
Then came the recollection of Janet, and he admired her as he thought of the calm resignation with which she seemed to pour out the lavish tenderness of her nature upon Patty.
At this point Harry glided selfishly away again in thought to add fresh colouring to his happy future.
Harry was early at Highgate the next day, to find Mrs Jared very stern and uncompromising; but he was too much for her in his downright honest declaration.