As he went along, he arranged the coming dialogue for all the parties. Edward was to introduce him; Mrs. Dodd to recognise his friendship for her son; he was to say he was the gainer by it; Julia, silent at first, was to hazard a timid observation, and he to answer gracefully, and draw her out and find how he stood in her opinion. The sprightly affair should end by his inviting Edward to dinner. That should lead to their inviting him in turn, and then he should have a word with Julia, and find out what houses she visited, and get introduced to their proprietors. Arrived at this point, his mind went over hedge and ditch faster than my poor pen can follow; as the crow flies, so flew he, and had reached the church-porch under a rain of nosegays with Julia--in imagination--by then he arrived at Albion Villa in the body. Yet he knocked timidly; his heart beat almost as hard as his hand. Sarah, the black-eyed housemaid, “answered the door.” “Mr. Edward Dodd?” “Not at home, sir. Left last week.” “For long?” “I don't rightly know, sir. But he won't be back this week, I don't think.” “Perhaps,” stammered Alfred, “the ladies--Mrs. Dodd--might be able to tell me.” “Oh yes, sir. But my mistress, she's in London just now.” Alfred's eyes flashed. “Could I learn from Miss Dodd?” “La, sir, she is in London along with her ma; why, 'tis for her they are gone; to insult the great doctors.” He started. “She is not ill? Nothing serious?” “Well, sir, we do hope not. She is pinning a bit, as young ladies will.” Alfred was anything but consoled by this off-hand account; he became alarmed, and looked wretched. Seeming him so perturbed, Sarah, who was blunt but good-natured, added, “But cook she says hard work would cure our Miss of all _she_ ails. But who shall I say was asking? For my work is a bit behind-hand.” Alfred took the hint reluctantly, and drew out his card-case, saying, “For Mr. Edward Dodd.” She gave her clean but wettish hand a hasty wipe with her apron, and took the card. He retired; she stood on the step and watched him out of sight, said “Oho!” and took his card to the kitchen for preliminary inspection and discussion. Alfred Hardie was resolute, but sensitive. He had come on the wings of Love and Hope; he went away heavily; a housemaid's tongue had shod his elastic feet with lead in a moment; of all misfortunes, sickness was what he had not anticipated, for she looked immortal. Perhaps it was that fair and treacherous disease, consumption. Well, if it was, he would love her all the more, would wed her as soon as he was of age, and carry her to some soft Southern clime, and keep each noxious air at bay, and prolong her life, perhaps save it.