"Oh, Vera!" she said, coming up to her, all radiant with smiles, "you are the only one of my friends who has not yet wished me joy."
"That is not because I have not thought of you, Beatrice, dear," she answered, heartily grasping her friend's outstretched hands. "I was so very glad to hear that everything has come right for you at last. How did it all happen?"
"I will come over to the vicarage to-morrow, and tell you the whole story. Oh! do you remember meeting Herbert and me, that foggy morning, outside Tripton station?"
Would Vera ever forget it?
"I little thought then how happily everything was to end for us. I used to think we should have to elope! Poor Herbert, he was always frightened out of his life when I said that. But we have had a very narrow escape of being blighted beings to the end of our lives. If it hadn't been for uncle Tom and that dear darling mare, Clochette, whom I should like to keep in a gold and jewelled stall to the end of her ever-blessed days!—--Ah, well! I've no time to tell you now—I will come over to Sutton to-morrow, and I may bring him, may I not?"
"Him," of course, meaning Mr. Herbert Pryme. Vera requested that he might be brought by all means.
"Well, I must run away now—there are at least a hundred of these stupid people to whom I must go and make myself agreeable. By the way, Vera, how dull you look, up in this corner by yourself. Why do you sit here all alone?"
"My head aches; I am glad to be quiet."
"But you mean to dance by-and-by, I hope?"
"Oh, yes, I daresay. Go back to your guests, Beatrice; I am getting on very well."