old woman lighting a fire which was already blazing merrily.  Jane knew her well and she told her to make us a pot of tea and bring it there.  With her own hands she drew forward a handsome Pembroke table, and then we went together through the main rooms of the house.  They were furnished in the time of the Regency, Jane said, and it was easy to recognize the rich, ornate extravagance of that period.  In all this conversation, mother, we were drawing nearer and nearer to each other and I kept in mind that I had called her once ‘my dear’ and that she had shown no objection to the words.”

“I suppose the old man and woman were John Britton and his wife Dinah.  I believe they have charge of the place.”

“I think so.  I heard Jane give the man some orders about the glass in the windows and he spoke to her concerning the bee skeps and the dahlia bulbs being all right for winter.  In half an hour there was a nice little tea ready for us, and just imagine, mother, how it felt for me to be sitting there drinking tea with Jane!”

“Was it a nice tea, John?”

“Mother, what can I tell you?  I wasn’t myself at all.  I only know that Dinah came in and out with hot cakes and that Jane put honey on them and gave them to me with smiles and kind words.  It was all wonderful!  If I had been dreaming, I might have felt just as much out of the body.”

“Jane can be very charming, I know that, John.”

“She was something better than charming, mother; she was kind and just a little quiet.  If she had been laughing and noisy and in one of her merry moods, it would not have been half so enchanting.  It was her sweet sedateness that gave sureness and reality to the whole affair.

“We left Harlow House just as the hunting-moon was rising.  Its full yellow splendor was over everything, and Jane looked almost spiritual in its transfiguring light.  Mother, I do not remember what I said, as I walked with her hand-in-hand through the park.  Ask your own heart, mother.  I have no doubt father said the same words to you.  There can only be one language for an emotion so powerful.  Wise or foolish, Jane understood what I said, and in words equally sweet and foolish she gave me her promise.  Oh, mother, it was not altogether the words!  It was the little tremors and coy unfoldings and sweet agitations of love revealing itself—­it wakened in Jane’s heart like a wandering rose.  And I saw this awakening of the woman, mother, and it was a wonderful sight.”

“John, you have had an experience that most men miss; be thankful for it.”

“I am, mother.  As long as I live, I will remember it.”

“Did you see Mrs. Harlow?”

“For a short time only.  She was much pleased at her daughter’s choice.  She thought our marriage might disarrange some of her own plans, but she said Jane’s happiness came before all other considerations.”

“Well, John, it is more than a few hours since you had that wonderful tea with cakes and honey.  You must have your proper eating, no matter what comes or goes.  What do you say to a slice of cold roast beef and some apple pie?”