“All this,” replied the unflinching sire, “I have read in the papers, and my son shall not marry the daughter of a trader and cad who has insulted me grossly; but that, I presume, you don’t object to.”

This stung Walter so that he feared to continue the discussion.

“I will not reply,” said he.  “You drive me to despair.  I leave you to reflect.  Perhaps you will prize me when you see me no more.”

With this he left the room, packed up his clothes, went to the nearest railway, off to London, collected his funds, crossed the water, and did not write one word to Clifford Hall, except a line to Julia.  “Left England heart-broken, the victim of two egotists and my sweet Mary’s weak conscientiousness.  God forgive me, I am angry even with her, but I don’t doubt her love.”

This missive and the general consternation at Clifford Hall brought Julia full gallop to Mary Bartley.

They read the letter together, and Julia was furious against Colonel Clifford.  But Mary interposed.

“I am afraid,” said she, “that I am the person who was most to blame.”

“Why, what have you done?”

“He said our case was desperate, and waiting would not alter it; and he should leave the country unless—­”

“Unless what?  How can I advise you if you have any concealments from me?”

“Well, then, it was unless I would consent to a clandestine marriage.”

“And you refused—­very properly.”

“And I refused—­very properly one would think—­and what is the consequence?  I have driven the man I love away from his friends, as well as from me, and now I begin to be very sorry for my properness.”

“But you don’t blush for it as you would for the other.  The idea!  To be married on the sly and to have to hide it from everybody, and to be found out at last, or else be suspected of worse things.”

“What worse things?”

“Never you mind, child; your womanly instinct is better than knowledge or experience, and it has guided you straight.  If you had consented, I should have lost my respect for you.”

And then, as the small view of a thing is apt to enter the female head along with the big view, she went on, with great animation: 

“And then for a young lady to sneak into a church without her friends, with no carriages, no favors, no wedding cake, no bishop, no proper dress, not even a bridal veil fit to be seen!  Why, it ought to be the great show of a girl’s life, and she ought to be a public queen, at all events for that one day, for ten to one she will be a slave all the rest of her life if she loves the fellow.”

She paused for breath one moment.