his former
loves? It was certainly much easier to write his letter without any
such allusion, and he did so.

About a week after this Sir Thomas went home to Fulham, and took
the letter with him. "Clary," he said, taking his youngest daughter
affectionately by the waist, when he found himself alone with her.
"I've got a piece of news for you."

"For me, papa?"

"Well, for all of us. Somebody is going to be married. Who do you
think it is?"

"Not Ralph Newton?" said Clarissa, with a little start.

"Yes, Ralph Newton."

"How quick he arranges things!" said Clarissa. There was some little
emotion, just a quiver, and a quick rush of blood into her cheeks,
which, however, left them just as quickly.

"Yes;--he is quick."

"Who is it, papa?"

"A very proper sort of person,--the daughter of a Berkshire baronet."

"But what is her name?"

"Augusta Eardham."

"Augusta Eardham. I hope he'll be happy, papa. We've known him a long
time."

"I think he will be happy;--what people call happy. He is not
gifted,--or cursed, as it may be,--with fine feelings, and is what
perhaps may be called thick-skinned; but he will love his own wife
and children. I don't think he will be a spendthrift now that he has
plenty to spend, and he is not subject to what the world calls vices.
I shouldn't wonder if he becomes a prosperous and most respectable
country gentleman, and quite a model to his neighbours."

"It doesn't seem to matter much;--does it?" said Clarissa, when she
told the story to Mary and Patience.

"What doesn't matter?" asked Mary.

"Whether a man cares for the girl he's going to marry, or doesn't
care at all. Ralph Newton cannot care very much for Miss Eardham."

"I think it matters very much," said Mary.

"Perhaps, after all, he'll be just as fond of his wife, in a way,
as though he had been making love to her,--oh, for years," said
Clarissa. This was nearly all that was said at the villa, though, no
doubt, poor Clary had many thoughts on the matter, in her solitary
rambles along the river. That picture of the youth, as he lay upon
the lawn, looking up into her eyes, and telling her that she was
dear to him, could not easily be effaced from her memory. Sir Thomas
before this had written his congratulations to Ralph. They had been
very short, and in them no allusion had been made to the young ladies
at Popham Villa.

In the meantime Ralph was as happy as the day was long, and delighted
with his lot in life.