Mary’s countenance fell. “Oh, Harry! that will not be good for the children.”
“I believe there is a park in which the children can walk,” he said, upon which Mary brightened once more.
“In that case, I don’t mind the other things,” she said, rocking softly in her chair; “but, Harry, how shall you like to be dictated to, and told everything that you have to do?”
“I should like anything,” he said, “that gave you a little more comfort, my poor Mary. There is two hundred and fifty a year——”
He said it with solemnity, as was right—“Two hundred and fifty a year.” Few are the curates who rejoice in such an income. Mary brought her chair down upon the floor with a sound which but lightly emphasised her astonishment and awe. These feelings were so strong in her mind that they had to be expressed before pleasure came.
“And you really have this offered to you, Harry? offered, without looking for it?”
“Yes,” said the curate, with the hush and wonder of humility, feeling that he could not account for such a piece of good fortune.
“That shows,” cried she, “how much you are appreciated, how you are understood. Oh, Harry! the world is wonderfully kind and right-feeling, after all.”
“Yes,” he said, “sometimes; there are a great many kind people in the world. And you don’t mind it, my darling? you don’t mind leaving Horton and all your relations, and the neighbourhood you have lived in all your life?”
“Mind it!” she cried, and paused a little, and dried her eyes, which were full. “Harry,” she said, with a little solemnity, “I think when people marry and have a family of their own, it is always a little like the beginning of a new world; don’t you think so? Everything is changed. It seems natural to go to a new place, to make a real new start, more natural than to stay where one has always been. Then, when they grow up, there will be openings for the boys; and Hetty will be able to get a good education. Mind it! I am sure it is the right thing.”