ble of course, to be married at church. That
would be to cast mockery on the marriage itself, as well as on what
Faber called his _beliefs_. The objection was entirely on Faber's side,
but Juliet did not hint at the least difference of feeling in the
matter. She let every thing take its way now.

At length having, in a neighboring town, arranged all the necessary
preliminaries, Faber got one of the other doctors in Glaston to attend
to his practice for three weeks, and went to take a holiday. Juliet left
Owlkirk the same day. They met, were lawfully married, and at the close
of the three weeks, returned together to the doctor's house.

The sort of thing did not please Glaston society, and although Faber was
too popular as a doctor to lose position by it, Glaston was slow in
acknowledging that it knew there was a lady at the head of his house.
Mrs. Wingfold and Miss Drake, however, set their neighbors a good
example, and by degrees there came about a dribbling sort of
recognition. Their social superiors stood the longest aloof--chiefly
because the lady had been a governess, and yet had behaved so like one
of themselves; they thought it well to give her a lesson. Most of them,
however, not willing to offend the leading doctor in the place, yielded
and called. Two elderly spinsters and Mrs. Ramshorn did not. The latter
declared she did not believe they were married. Most agreed they were
the handsomest couple ever seen in that quarter, and looked all right.

Juliet returned the calls made upon her, at the proper retaliatory
intervals, and gradually her mode of existence fell into routine. The
doctor went out every day, and was out most of the day, while she sat at
home and worked or read. She had to amuse herself, and sometimes found
life duller than when she had to earn her bread--when, as she went from
place to place, she might at any turn meet Paul upon Ruber or Niger.
Already the weary weed of the commonplace had begun to show itself in
the marriage garden--a weed which, like all weeds, requires only neglect
for perfect development, when it will drive the lazy Eve who has never
made her life worth _living_, to ask whether life be worth _having_. She
was not a great reader. No book had ever yet been to her a well-spring
of life; and such books as she liked best it was perhaps just as well
that she could not easily procure in Glaston; for, always ready to
appreciate the noble, she had not moral discernment sufficient to