In accordance with her unfailing habit, she was writing every fortnight to Dyke, although all her letters must lie waiting at Hobart unseen by him for a long time; and she told him now about Mildred and Alwyn.
“...The young man was brought for me to see this afternoon, and I must say I was very much pleased with him. He is distinctly handsome with a good presence and a strong but yet musical voice, so that as far as one can judge he is well fitted for his profession. He is very ambitious, and I liked that too. But with the ambition he has that kind of helplessness that seems almost universal in this generation—as though they were not really grown-up, but like children trust everything to other people and make no effort themselves. He is only twenty-eight, and he left Cambridge, where he did a lot of amateur acting, in order to join one of the new battalions. He was twice wounded and mentioned in despatches. That is as it should be.
“I cannot tell you how much touched I was by Mildred’s little proprietorial, almost motherly airs with him; so keenly anxious that he should make a favourable impression, and using all her innocent arts to show him off at his very best. O love, love! Is there anything else that is beautiful in the world beyond love, and the manifold effects that love produces? I assure you, dear Tony, that as I watched them, the past came right back again. It was not those two; it was you and I. It was the year 1895, and not the date that I have put at the top of this paper.
“To-morrow I am to see the brother. And after that I shall tackle the father.”
Hubert Parker, Mildred’s brother, had been at Cambridge with Alwyn Beckett; and he assured Miss Verinder that there was not a better fellow alive. He thoroughly approved of him as a husband for his sister. Alwyn, to his mind, was good enough for a royal princess. “I agree with Mildrings,” he said, smiling. “I think the governor has been bitten by a mad dog.”
Then Miss Verinder had Alwyn before her again. He sat in the middle of the sofa, facing her, while “Mildrings” stood behind him, put her hand on his shoulder, and told him not to interrupt but to listen, when he burst out with vows and protestations.
He was protesting because Miss Verinder said that there must be no more of these clandestine meetings. They were not fair to Mildred.
“Yes, but whose fault is that? If her people won’t allow me to the house, if they treat me like a pick-pocket, if they—”
“Alwyn,” said Mildred, with severity, “Miss Verinder is speaking.”