mbrance of such dreams will not fade away quickly.
Let us hope that hereafter it may be as a dream;--but time must be
allowed to efface the idea of its reality."

"Time;--yes; but cannot we arrange some plan for the future? Cannot
something be done? I thought you said you would ask her to come
here?"

"So I did,--but not yet."

"Why shouldn't she come now? You needn't ask because I am here. There
is no saying whom she may meet, and then my chance will be gone
again."

"Is that all you know about women, Harry? Do you think that the girl
whom you love so dearly will take up with one man after another in
that fashion?"

"Who can say? She was not very long in taking up, as you call it,
with Captain Marrable. I should be happier if she were here, even if
I did not see her."

"Of course you would see her, and of course you would propose
again,--and of course she would refuse you."

"Then there is no hope?"

"I do not say that. Wait till the summer comes; and then, if I can
influence her, we will have her here. If you find that remaining at
the Privets all alone is wearisome to you--"

"Of course it is wearisome."

"Then go up to London--or abroad--or anywhere for a change. Take some
occupation in hand and stick to it."

"That is so easily said, Mrs. Fenwick."

"No man ever did anything by moping; and you mope. I know I am
speaking plainly, and you may be angry with me, if you please."

"I am not at all angry with you; but I think you hardly understand."

"I do understand," said Mrs. Fenwick, speaking with all the energy
she could command; "and I am most anxious to do all that you wish.
But it cannot be done in a day. If I were to ask her now, she would
not come; and if she came it would not be for your good. Wait till
the summer. You may be sure that no harm will be done by a little
patience."

Then he went away, declaring again that he would wait with patience;
but saying, at the same time, that he would remain at home. "As for
going to London," he said, "I should do nothing there. When I find
that there is no chance left, then probably I shall go abroad."

"It is my belief," said the Vicar, that evening, when his wife told
him what had occurred, "that she will never have him; not because she
does not like him, or could not learn to like him if he were as other
men are, but simply because he is so unreasonably unhappy about her.
No woman was ever got by that sort of puling and whining love. If it
were