“Aunt Emma may dislike it!” retorted the Captain. “She has picked up some ridiculously absurd notion, Grame, that the bells bring ill-luck when they are heard. Women are so foolishly superstitious.”
“That must be a very far-fetched superstition,” said the parson.
“One might as well believe in witches,” mocked the Captain. “I have given in to her fancies for some years, not to cross her, and allowed the bells to be silent: she’s a good woman on the whole; but be hanged if I will any longer. On the last day of this year, Grame, you shall hear the chimes.”
How it came about nobody exactly knew, unless it was through Hubert, but matters were smoothed for the parson and Lucy.
Mrs. Carradyne knew his worth, and she saw that they were as much in love with one another as ever could be Hodge and Joan. She liked the idea of Lucy being settled near her—and the vicarage, large and handsome, could have its unused rooms opened and furnished. Mr. Grame honestly avowed that he should have asked for Lucy before, but for his poverty; he supposed that Lucy was poor also.
“That is so; Lucy has nothing of her own,” said Mrs. Carradyne to this. “But I am not in that condition.”
“Of course not. But—pardon me—I thought your property went to your son.”
Mrs. Carradyne laughed. “A small estate of his father’s, close by here, became my son’s at his father’s death,” she said. “My own money is at my disposal; the half of it will eventually be Lucy’s. When she marries, I shall allow her two hundred a year: and upon that, and your stipend, you will have to get along together.”
“It will be like riches to me,” said the young parson all in a glow.
“Ah! Wait until you realise the outlets for money that a wife entails,” nodded Mrs. Carradyne in her superior wisdom. “Not but that I’m sure it’s good for young people, setting up together, to be straitened at the beginning. It teaches them economy and the value of money.”