Mistress Mary was a prudent woman. She pursed up her lips and uttered a little sound expressive of discontent.
"Dear Betty," she said, "it is doubtless a very good thing to be in love with a stranger romantically, but still—"
"He is no stranger," said Betty quickly.
"No, no, not to be called a stranger," cried Mary, laughing—"an old and valued friend of two months' standing."
"The time is short," said Betty thoughtfully. "But a whole lifetime seems to have passed in that space! My father," she cried, as Mr. Ives entered the room, "here is Mistress Mary Jones."
"Come to offer my warmest good wishes," said the lady, "and also all the assistance in my power when the important day approaches."
"I shall indeed be glad and grateful for your help," said Betty affectionately.
Mr. Ives persuaded Mary to remain for supper. The candles were brought in, and the room looked bright and cheery.
"Stay with me and cheer my loneliness," said the parson cheerily. "The young folk will stroll in the garden till supper be ready. I am too old for dewy twilight walks, egad."
Was it a new idea that flashed into Mary's mind that caused her to start? She glanced at Mr. Ives' comely person, at his glossy cassock, his smartly-buckled shoes, at the neat tie-wig which surmounted a face which she hastily pronounced as handsome as it ever had been.