‘Have you really made up your mind to marry him? Do you really believe that you can live happily with him?’ asked Beatrix, earnestly. ‘Yes,’ sighed Bella, thinking of the barouche and pair, the pony carriage, the huge barrack of a house at the end of an avenue of elms, the dignity and importance that all these things would give her. ‘Yes, I have quite made up my mind, Beatrix. It will be such a good thing for my family--and I believe I can be happy.’ ‘Then I will not say another word against Mr. Piper. Indeed, I will try my best to like him.’ ‘He has a very good heart,’ said Bella, ‘really a noble heart.’ ‘And that is of more consequence than the kind of English a man talks.’ ‘And he is very intelligent,’ said Bella, anxious to make the best of her bargain. ‘You should hear him talk of Jeremy Bentham. Papa says it is quite wonderful.’ ‘And what about his children, Bella? Are they nice? Do you feel that you can love them?’ Bella involuntarily made a wry face. ‘They are not very nice,’ she answered, ‘but it will be my duty to love them, and of course I shall do so.’ This conversation took place at the Water House one afternoon at the beginning of October. Beatrix and her companion, Madame Leonard, had been away for nearly two months, living quietly at Whitby and other seaside places, and Beatrix had come back improved in health and spirits. Sir Kenrick had been absent six months, and was likely to return at the end of the year, unless the war continued. He would not care to leave the army while there was any hard fighting going on, and his regiment was in the thick of it. Mrs. Dulcimer loudly lamented this Burmese outbreak, which made it impossible for Kenrick to sell out with a good grace yet awhile. She was always talking to Beatrix about him, and entreating to hear little bits of his letters. Lately there had been an irregularity in the letters. Kenrick’s regiment had been moving about. He had been off the track of civilization and postal facilities. One morning in October, just a week before Bella’s wedding day, there came a startling letter--a letter which Beatrix brought to Mrs. Dulcimer. ‘Oh, my dear, my dear!’ cried the Vicar’s wife, ‘something dreadful has happened to Kenrick. I see it in your face. Is he dead?’ This last question was almost a shriek, and it was evident that Mrs. Dulcimer was prepared to go into hysterics at a moment’s notice. ‘No,’ answered Beatrix, ‘but he has been severely wounded, and he is on his way home.’ ‘Coming home,’ cried Mrs. Dulcimer, ‘how delightful! But severely wounded! How dreadful!’ ‘He writes in very good spirits, but I think though he hardly admits as much, that he has been badly hurt, and very ill from the effects of his wounds,’ said Beatrix. ‘He wishes you and Mr. Dulcimer to go to Southampton with me to meet him.’ ‘Dear boy, how touching! Read me a little of the letter. Do, my love.’