“And it isn’t as if you were low people.  Why, it reminds me of a thing I read in some novel:  a city clerk, or some such person, took a walk with his sweetheart into the country, and all of a sudden he said, ’Why, there is something hard in my pocket.  What is it, I wonder?  A plain gold ring.  Does it fit you?  Try it on, Polly.  Why, it fits you, I declare; then keep it till further orders.’  Then they walked a little further.  ’Why, what is this?  Two pairs of white gloves.  Try the little pair on, and I will try the big ones.  Stop!  I declare here’s a church, and the bells beginning to ring.  Why, who told them that I’ve got a special license in my pocket?  Hallo! there are two fellows hanging about; best men, witnesses, or some such persons, I should not wonder.  I think I know one of them; and here is a parson coming over a stile!  What an opportunity for us now just to run in and get married!  Come on, old girl, lend me that wedding ring a minute, I’ll give it you back again in the church.’  No, thank you, Mr. Walter; we love you very dearly, but we are ladies, and we respect ourselves.”

In short, Julia confirmed Mary Bartley in her resolution, but she could not console her under the consequences.  Walter did not write a line even to her; she couldn’t but fear that he was really in despair, and would cure himself of his affection if he could.  She began to pine; the roses faded gradually out of her cheeks, and Mr. Bartley himself began at last to pity her, for though he did not love her, he liked her, and was proud of her affection.  Another thing, Hope might come home now any day, and if he found the girl sick and pining, he might say this is a breach of contract.

He asked Mary one day whether she wouldn’t like a change.  “I could take you to the sea-side,” said he, but not very cordially.

“No, papa,” said Mary; “why should you leave your mine when everything is going so prosperously?  I think I should like to go to the lakes, and pay my old nurse a visit.”

“And she would talk to you of Walter Clifford?”

“Yes, papa,” said Mary, firmly, “she would; and that’s the only thing that can do me any good.”

“Well, Mary,” said Bartley, “if she could be content with praising him, and regretting the insuperable obstacles, and if she would encourage you to be patient—­There, let me think of it.”

Things went hard with Colonel Clifford.  He felt his son’s desertion very bitterly, though he was too proud to show it; he now found out that universally as he was respected, it was Walter who was the most beloved both in the house and in the neighborhood.