"Now Mr. Alwyn is a great favourite of mine, and I think highly of him. Few young men would be so good-natured as to come two or three times a week to chat with an elderly invalid. And yet that is what Mr. Alwyn does, and he knows I enjoy his visits.
"Yesterday when he came in he found Miss Williams sitting with me, and they both looked as pleased as though they had not met for years. And it made me feel quite young to look at them. Oh!" in an exasperated tone, as Olivia shook her head, "I know what that means,—that you and Marcus forbid the banns,—but you might just as well try to stop an express train with a penny whistle, so you may as well save your breath.
"Those two mean to take each other for better or worse. They don't know it themselves yet, but it is written already in the book of fate."
"Oh, Aunt Madge, how can you say such things? You have not seen Greta more than three or four times."
"All the same, the oracle has spoken," with a wise nod of her head. "My dear, Greta Williams was born into this world to be someone's crutch. A strong, healthy-minded man could not utilise her best qualities. She would be simply wasted on him. She has got to mother her husband, you see, and that is what Mr. Alwyn wants his wife to do. Leave them alone, they will soon find out their need of each other. And then they will settle matters. And for pity's sake, Olive, don't you try and put a spoke in their wheel." But Olivia, who was a little huffy on the subject, refused to say another word.
"It was no business of hers or anyone's," she said, pointedly, "whom Alwyn Gaythorne chose to marry, but in her opinion it was always a pity to couple names together beforehand," and with this virtuous snub she rose to take her leave, but Mrs. Broderick only indulged in one of her hearty laughs.
"Livy, I do declare you are actually cross with me,—well, there, I will not say another word; don't look as though I have been talking treason. I quite allow your Greta is too good for any ordinary faulty man, and that even my young friend is not worthy of her," and at this admission Olivia's brow cleared.
"Thank you for saying that, Aunt Madge. I know we do not really differ, only—only," with a little laugh, "you are always so ready for a love-story."
"Yes, I love a lover," returned Mrs. Broderick, playfully, and then her manner changed. "No, I will not jest about it; life and death and love are no subjects for jests,—they are three splendid realities. Yes, my dear Olive, you are right, and love-stories, even the poorest, interest me. Haven't I lived mine? Do I not know how it glorifies life? but we can only read the first chapters here,—there is eternity for us presently. 'The many mansions,' I think I love those words more than any in the Bible; they always make me think that even there there will be a special home for Fergus and me and our boy."
Olivia certainly found it difficult to satisfy the various claims on her; her household tasks occupied most of the morning; as long as Martha remained their sole domestic, it was necessary for the mistress to superintend the cooking. To look after Marcus's comfort was her first and paramount duty, and it was seldom that she found herself at leisure until the afternoon, and then she and Greta were generally together, either at Brunswick Place or Galvaston Terrace.