“Why?” she repeated; thinking how utterly void of conceit he was, how unconscious he had been all along in his modesty. “Oh, people always grumble at everything, you know. If you were to remain single, they would say you ought to marry; and if you marry, they will think you might as well have remained single. Don’t trouble your head about the parish, and don’t tell any one a syllable beforehand if you’d rather not. I shouldn’t.”
“You have been so very kind to me always, Miss Deveen, and I have felt more grateful than I can say. I hope—I hope you will like my wife. I hope you will allow me to bring her here, and introduce her to you.”
“I like her already,” said Miss Deveen. “As to your bringing her here, if she lived near enough you should both come here to your wedding-breakfast. What a probation it has been!”
The tears stood in his grey eyes. “Yes, it has been that; a trial hardly to be imagined. I don’t think we quite lost heart, either she or I. Not that we have ever looked to so bright an ending as this; but we knew that God saw all things, and we were content to leave ourselves in His hands.”
“I am sure that she is good and estimable! One to be loved.”
“Indeed she is. Few are like her.”
“Have you never met—all these fourteen years?”
“Yes; three or four times. When I have been able to take a holiday I have gone down there to my old Rector; he was always glad to see me. It has not been often, as you know,” he added. “Mr. Selwyn could not spare me.”
“I know,” said Miss Deveen. “He took all the holidays, and you all the work.”