“Frederick is to be married,” she said, addressing him one day when they happened to be alone. It was in the garden, which in summer was the home of the family, and the slow, lingering spring had changed into summer that year almost in a day.
Dick was almost as much surprised as if the lime-tree under which he sat had suddenly disclosed a questioning Dryad. “Frederick? yes, he is going to be married, more fool he,” cried Dick, shutting up, on the chance of conversation, the book which he did not love.
“What does it mean?” said Innocent again. She had come to his side, and was standing by, questioning him with her great, steady eyes. The good young fellow thought to himself that she must be an absolute fool to ask such a question, and did not know what to reply.
“Mean?—” he said confused, casting about for words.
“Does it mean that he will go away from here?” said Innocent, “I do not know English ways. Will he go away,—will he have her with him instead? Will he never come back, never to live, to be here always? That is what I want to know.”
“Of course not,” said Dick. “Why any child knows that when a man marries he goes away with his wife to a house of his own.”
“Will Frederick have a house of his own?”
“Of course,—I suppose so,—if he can afford it,” said Dick.
“And she will be with him always?” she asked in a musing tone.
Upon which Dick burst into a great laugh, which silenced Innocent; but she had not the least idea why he laughed. Her mind was too much intent upon one subject to mind anything else. Frederick had brought a photograph of his betrothed to exhibit to his mother, and Innocent was seen bending over it and examining it long and closely. Next morning it was found on the table torn up into little fragments. The house was disturbed by this, for Frederick gave his mother and sister credit for the destruction of the image of his love, and accused them of want of consideration for himself, and many another sin against his mightiness. Both the accused ladies, however, suspected how it was; Innocent had torn it up quickly and quietly after she had looked at it. She had done it with no vindictiveness, but with a quiet solemnity, like an administration of justice. “Why did you tear it up?” Nelly said to her, a day or two later.