By a singular coincidence, Mrs Fraser was closeted with Mr Lockwood in the library of Oswald Villa during the love-scene of Septimus with Blanche. The widow had gone to the library under the pretence of fetching a particular volume, well knowing that she would find the handsome solicitor in that apartment. Mr Lockwood was deeply immersed in Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, but rose from his seat as Mrs Fraser entered.
‘I did not mean to disturb you, Mr Lockwood; I merely wanted a volume of Tennyson.’
‘Pray, don’t apologise, Mrs Fraser. Your visit is very apropos, for I was very anxious to have a few minutes’ private conversation with you on a matter affecting all my future life.’
The widow gracefully accepted the chair Mr Lockwood placed for her, her cheek flushing, and her pulse throbbing as a small voice whispered: ‘The moment has at length arrived; and Frank is neither made of stone, nor so impervious to my fascinations as I supposed.’
‘It is in your power, my dear Mrs Fraser, to make me the happiest of men.’
A film passed over the eyes of the widow at this sudden statement of the lawyer.
‘With your keen penetration and knowledge of the human heart, you must have long since perceived that I am hopelessly in love, and that the object of my affections is at this moment a resident of Oswald Villa.’
‘I suspected as much; I will not deny it, dear Frank.’
Mr Lockwood took the plump and trembling fingers of the widow in his own and gently pressed them. The widow cordially and instinctively returned the squeeze. ‘May I hope, dear Mrs Fraser?’