"Which you were quite free to do," interrupted Lucy, who, having given
way to temper once to-day, found in herself an alarming proclivity
towards a repetition of the offence.

"Which I was quite free to do," said the Perpetual Curate, with a
smile, "but could not, and did not, all the same. Things are
altogether changed. Now, be as cross as you please, you belong to me,
_Lucia mia_. To be sure, I have no money--"

"I was not thinking of that," said the young lady, under her breath.

"Of course one has to think about it," said Mr Wentworth; "but the
question is, whether we shall be happier and better going on separate
in our usual way, or making up our minds to give up something for the
comfort of being together. Perhaps you will forgive me for taking
_that_ view of the question," said the Curate, with a little
enthusiasm. "I have got tired of ascetic principles. I don't see why
it must be best to deny myself and postpone myself to other things and
other people. I begin to be of my brother Jack's opinion. The children
of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of
light. A man who will wait has to wait. Providence does not invariably
reward him after he has been tried, as we used to suppose. I am
willing to be a poor man because I can't help it; but I am not willing
to wait and trust my happiness to the future when it is in my reach
now," said the unreasonable young man, to whom it was of course as
easy as it was to Lucy to change the position of his chair, and
prevent the distance between them being increased. Perhaps he might
have carried his point even at that moment, had not Miss Wodehouse,
who had heard enough to alarm her, come forward hastily in a fright on
the prudential side.

"I could not help hearing what you were saying," said the elder
sister. "Oh, Mr Wentworth, I hope you don't mean to say that you can't
trust Providence? I am sure that is not Lucy's way of thinking. I
would not mind, and I am sure she would not mind, beginning very
quietly; but then you have nothing, next to nothing, neither of you.
It might not matter, just at the first," said Miss Wodehouse, with
serious looks; "but then--afterwards, you know," and a vision of a
nursery flashed upon her mind as she spoke. "Clergymen always have
such large families," she said half out before she was aware, and
stopped, covered with confusion, not daring to look at Lucy to see
what effect such a suggestion might have had upon her. "I