of the pleasures of life,
never known the sweet incense of flattery and devotion. Vera had known it
all. Many men had courted her; one or two had loved her dearly, but she
had not loved them. Amongst them all, indeed, there had been never one
whom she had liked with such a sincere affection as she now felt for this
man, who seemed to love her so much, and who wrote to her so diffidently,
and yet so devotedly.

"I love him as well as I am ever likely to love any one," said Vera, to
herself. Yet still she leant her chin upon her hand and looked out of the
window at the gray bare branches of the elm-trees across the damp green
lawn, and still her letter was unwritten.

"Vera!" cries Marion, coming in hurriedly and breaking in upon her
reverie, "the footman from Kynaston is waiting all this time to know if
there is any answer! Shall I send him away? Or have you made up your
mind?"

"Oh yes, I have made up my mind. My note will be ready directly; he may
as well take it. It will save the trouble of sending up to the Hall
later." For Vera remembers that there is not a superfluity of servants
at the vicarage, and that they all of them have plenty to do.

And thus, a mere trifle--a feather, as it were, on the river of
life--settled her destiny for her out of hand.

She dipped her pen into the ink once more, and wrote:--

"Dear Sir John,--You have done me a great honour in asking me to be
your wife. I am fully sensible of your affection, and am very grateful
for it. I fear you think too highly of me; but I will endeavour to
prove myself worthy of your good opinion, and to make you as good a
wife as you deserve.

"Yours,
"Vera Nevill."

She was conscious herself of the excessive coldness of her note, but she
could not help it. She could not, for the life of her, have made it
warmer. Nothing, indeed, is so difficult as to write down feelings that
do not exist; it is easier to simulate with our spoken words and our
looks; but the pen that is urged beyond its natural inclination seems to
cool into ice in our fingers. But, at all events, she had accepted him.

It was a relief to her when the thing was done, and the note sent off
beyond the possibility of recall.

After that there had been no longer any leisure for her doubting
thoughts. There was her sister's delighted excitement, Mrs. Daintree's
oppressive astonishment, and even Eustace's calmer satisfaction in her
bright prospects, to occupy and divert her