"Estelle," said I, one day when a happy chance threw us together for a few minutes in an arbour of the garden, where we sometimes met at a certain hour, and separated after by different paths, like a pair of conspirators, "when shall a period be put to all this mystery--this painful, though joyous, false position in which we find ourselves?"
"We can but wait and hope, Harry--wait and hope!" said she, while her head drooped on my shoulder, and my arm went round her.
"Wait and hope, dearest, for what? My promotion?"
"That would bring the end no nearer," said she, with a sad, sickly smile.
"No, certainly; even to be colonel of the Royal Welsh instead of a mere sub would not enhance my value much in Lady Naseby's estimation," said I, with some bitterness. "For what then, darling?"
"Some change in mamma's views regarding me."
"She will never change!"
"You know, Harry, that were you rich, I might marry you now--yes, and go to Turkey with you, too!" said she, with a brightness in her eyes.
"Would to Heaven, then, that I were rich! But being poor--"
"It is impossible."