“It is quite hopeless!  Here I live in my own home without a friend, and he is treated like a pariah, my poor dear boy!  He has been to see me two or three times, as he has a perfect right to do, and they have just had him shown into the drawing-room, and left him to me, neither of them coming near.  And this while Bennet Goldsworthy loafs all over the house, as if it was his own, and presumes to look at me in a superior sort of way, as if I was one of his dirty little Sunday-school children in disgrace.  They bring him up into the attic even—­our own private room—­mine as much as theirs; they never did it before, and it is only because he is banded with them against me.  Well, I wouldn’t marry Bennet Goldsworthy if there was not another man in the world...

“I have my ring—­such diamonds! too valuable, I tell Peter; but he says nothing can be that—­and I know they can’t help seeing it, because the whole room flashes when I turn it this way and that, like blue lightning playing; but they all pretend not to.  Since they find they cannot break our engagement, the idea is to ignore it as if it was something so low as to be beneath their notice.  Perhaps they fancy that will wear me out; but it won’t. . . .  If they had been nice, and pleaded with me, and if Peter had not been so very dear and good, I might have caved in; but not now.  And indeed, I am sure I never should anyway, only we might have agreed to differ without quarrelling, which we never did before.  Oh, it is too miserable!  Poor Mr and Mrs Breen must hate the very name of Pennycuick, and they will end by hating me if this goes on. . . .Peter has bought the house, and is asking me to hurry our marriage, to get me out of it.  He says a private ceremony would not be dishonourable under the circumstances.  It seems to me a mean sort of way to go to him, but—­what do you think?”

“My dear,” wrote Alice Urquhart, “I think Peter is right.  Next time he asks you, you say yes.  It will be a real kindness to both families, who would never know what to do with a house wedding.  Besides, then you might have to be given away by B. G. Walk out quietly and unbeknown, and don’t come back.  Write from the Blue Mountains or somewhere—­’Yours ever, Rose Breen.’  And later on, when things have settled down, their hearts will melt, and they will come and see you.  Let me know what day, and I will run down (to the dentist) to see fair play and sign the register.

“Now, you need not have any scruples, child, because the whole of your husband’s family approve of the match (Simpsons delighted, if a little huffy for the moment to see solid worth looked down upon), and Deb and the others are certain to come round when they find it is no use doing anything else.  Outsiders don’t matter; and I should hate touting for wedding presents in such a mixed concern.  As for your clothes, you have plenty; when you want more, you can get them cost price at the shop.  It is a very good shop, I hear, and I mean to be a steady customer from this out.  Oh, yes, and I will come and see you, old girl, nows and thens, when I have to go to town.  And you and Peter must spend all your Christmases up here.  While he is seeing his people at Bundaboo, you can camp with me, like old times.”