“I don't see any harm in it, if you have got your mind made up,” the priest said, recovering from his first astonishment. “I suppose it would be of no use for me to try to break off the arrangement, even if I wanted to.”
“Well, John is pretty set,” the lady admitted modestly.
“I dare say,” was the smiling rejoinder. “When is it to be?”
“In a month, if you please. He is started in business now, and is doing well, and there's no reason why he shouldn't be a great merchant as well as any other man. He's capable of it, if anybody is,” she said, becoming a little defiant.
“Certainly!” replied F. Chevreuse with perfect gravity. “There is not a law in the commonwealth which will prevent his being as great a merchant as he pleases. The world of trade is open to John, and I wish him all success in it. Do you put your property into his hands?”
Instantly the beautiful modesty of the bride-elect gave place to the business-like acuteness of the woman who knew perfectly well the value of money.
“No, father, we keep our accounts separate,” she said. “He had half enough to start in business with, and I lent him the other half. The income of the whole is to go toward our housekeeping, but he will have nothing to do with the rest of my property.”
F. Chevreuse nodded. “I see that you haven't lost your head. You have managed your own affairs so well thus far, you may as well continue to do the same, for your children's sake.”
A month later there was a quiet marriage at the priest's house; and the only notice the Crichtonians had of it was when John appeared again in Mrs. Ferrier's carriage, this time by her side, instead of in the dicky.
Everybody smiled except Honora Pembroke. She alone, perfectly polite, and refraining from all interference, felt haughtily indignant at the marriage. It was in vain that F. Chevreuse tried to reason away her prejudices.