“Jean has only had a few days’ holiday since she first went there,” answered Jean’s aunt evasively.
But Miss Prince shook her head. “I don’t know why you should hide the truth from me, Mrs. Maclean? It’s been plain for a good while what was the matter with Harry Garlett. I knew it before he knew it himself! But I didn’t believe that the girl liked him. I thought she preferred Dr. Tasker. Well, well! Poor Emily has soon been forgotten——”
After some three weeks of this state of things had gone on, Dr. Maclean suddenly said to his wife: “There’s nothing for it but to get them married! There’ll only be more talk if they don’t.”
And Mrs. Maclean answered with something like a groan: “There’ll be a lot of talk if they do.”
“Yes, but what’s to be done, my dear? The poor fellow has never been in love till now, so he doesn’t know how to behave——”
And so it was that at last it was decided that the two should be married on the nineteenth of December, by special license, very quietly, not to say secretly, in Terriford village church. They would then go to London for a week’s honeymoon, and, during that week, Dr. and Mrs. Maclean would tell all their neighbours and friends what had happened.
The doctor and his wife reminded each other that there was something about Jean which attracted even cold people. She had such a bright, happy, eager nature. As for Harry Garlett, he was always ready to do anybody a good turn, and also, as a great cricketer, was very popular. Though some old-fashioned people might be shocked by so early a second marriage, every one knew that his late wife had been an invalid for years.
There was only one person to whom, for a reason he would have found it difficult to define even to himself, Harry Garlett felt bound to announce his forthcoming marriage. This was Agatha Cheale.
In answer to his brief letter, there came one even briefer:
Dear Mr. Garlett,