Lucy
Wodehouse, with a little glow of friendliness in which there was still
a tincture of admiring envy. All this that happy girl would have
without the necessity of waiting for it; but then was it not the
Rector, the rehabilitated husband, who would be the means of producing
so much happiness? Mrs Morgan rose up as lightly as a girl when she
had reached this stage, and opened her writing-desk, which was one of
her wedding-presents, and too fine to be used on common occasions. She
took out her prettiest paper, with her monogram in violet, which was
her favourite colour. One of those kind impulses which are born of
happiness moved her relieved spirit. To give to another the
consolation of a brighter hope, seemed at the moment the most natural
way of expressing her own thankful feelings. Instead of going
down-stairs immediately to order dinner, she sat down instead at the
table, and wrote the following note:--

"MY DEAR MR WENTWORTH,--I don't know whether you will think me a
fair-weather friend seeking you only when everybody else is seeking
you, and when you are no longer in want of support and sympathy.
Perhaps you will exculpate me when you remember the last conversation
we had; but what I write for at present is to ask if you would waive
ceremony and come to dinner with us to-night. I am aware that your
family are still in Carlingford, and of course I don't know what
engagements you may have; but if you are at liberty, pray come. If Mr
Morgan and you had but known each other a little better things could
never have happened which have been a great grief and vexation to me;
and I know the Rector _wishes very much_ to have a little conversation
with you, and has something to speak of in which you would be
interested. Perhaps my husband might feel a little strange in asking
you to overstep the barrier which somehow has been raised between you
two; but I am sure if you knew each other better you would understand
each other, and this is one of the things we women ought to be good
for. I will take it as a proof that you consider me a friend if you
accept my invitation. Our hour is half-past six.--Believe me, very
sincerely, yours,

"M. MORGAN."

When she had written this note Mrs Morgan went down-stairs, stopping
at the library door in passing. "I thought I might as well ask Mr
Wentworth to come to us to-night, as we are to have some people to
dinner," she said, looking in at the door. "I thought