o
Tretton. When, therefore, she came down to tea, she was able to receive
Harry not with joy but at least without rebuke.

Conversation was at first somewhat flat between the two. If the old
lady could have been induced to remain up-stairs, Harry felt that the
evening would have been much more satisfactory. But, as it was, he found
himself enabled to make some progress. He at once began to address
Florence as his undoubted future spouse, very slyly using words adapted
for that purpose: and she, without any outburst of her intention,--as she
had made when discussing the matter with her cousin,--answered him in the
same spirit, and by degrees came so to talk as though the matter were
entirely settled. And then, at last, that future day was absolutely
brought on the tapis as though now to be named.

"Three years!" ejaculated Mrs. Mountjoy, as though not even yet
surrendering her last hope.

Florence, from the nature of the circumstances, received this in
silence. Had it been ten years she might have expostulated. But a young
lady's bashfulness was bound to appear satisfied with an assurance of
marriage within three years. But it was otherwise with Harry. "Good God,
Mrs. Mountjoy, we shall all be dead!" he cried out.

Mrs. Mountjoy showed by her countenance that she was extremely shocked.
"Oh, Harry!" said Florence, "none of us, I hope, will be dead in three
years."

"I shall be a great deal too old to be married if I am left alive. Three
months, you mean. It will be just the proper time of year, which does go
for something. And three months is always supposed to be long enough to
allow a girl to get her new frocks."

"You know nothing about it, Harry," said Florence. And so the matter was
discussed--in such a manner that when Harry took his departure that
evening he was half inclined to sing a song of himself about the
conquering hero. "Dear mamma!" said Florence, kissing her mother with
all the warm, clinging affection of former years. It was very
pleasant,--but still Mrs. Mountjoy went to her room with a sad heart.

When there she sat for a while over the fire, and then drew out her
desk. She had been beaten,--absolutely beaten,--and it was necessary that
she should own so much in writing to one person. So she wrote her
letter, which was as follows:

"Dear Mountjoy,--After all it cannot be as I would have had it. As they
say, 'Man proposes, but God disposes.' I would have given her to you
now, and would even ye