‘Pardon me, Mrs Fraser. I am thirty-three, and Blanche is nineteen.’
The room and its contents spun round before the horrified gaze of the unhappy widow. All was clear to her now. For a few brief happy moments she had been living in a fool’s paradise. The dream was over. But, like a judicious woman of the world, Mrs Fraser collected her agitated thoughts and rapidly executed a change of front.
‘You will make some allowance, Mr Lockwood, for my natural agitation at the idea of losing a beloved daughter. Blanche is a dear good child, and you gained a treasure when you won her young affections. But you must have patience. I cannot afford to lose her yet, she is still so young.’
‘My dear Mrs Fraser, I am the happiest of men,’ replied the enraptured Lockwood, overjoyed at the speedy success of his suit.
MISTLETOE.
A cold dark night,
Some falling snow;
A gleam of light,
A ruddy glow.
A quaint old hall,