“He is arguing with mamma, and it makes me miserable to listen to the hard things she says to him.” “These arguments must be stopped!” cried my uncle, leaving his chair. “Can’t your mother leave him alone for to-night? You’ll be out of the house to-morrow. What good can reproaches do? Can they unmarry you? My wife _must_ be made to understand this.” And he left the room. Finding myself alone with Conny, I kicked my feet about a little, and said, “I was quite in earnest when I hoped you would be happy.” “I am sure you were. But I shall be happier when you tell me I am forgiven,” she answered, turning her face away from the light. “Oh, you are forgiven. Your papa means to----.” “I mean forgiven by you,” she interrupted. “There is nothing to forgive.” “Don’t say that, Charlie. I did not act honourably. I was not straightforward. But I couldn’t--I _dared_ not be. I knew if mamma should learn that I flatly refused to encourage you, she would contrive to separate me for ever from Theodore.” “Yes, yes. I quite understand. I heartily forgive you--I bear no resentment. I _was_ a little surprised--shocked, I may say; but the wound is healed, Conny. I am as sound in health and mind as if I had never received a stab. I was quite sure that it was all up between us--that you hadn’t, that you never would have a spark of affection for me, when you allowed the letter I sent you from Thistlewood to remain unanswered. What _might_ have been, my dear, we needn’t talk about--it hasn’t taken place. My dream is dreamt out. I have a practical mind; and being now wide awake, dismiss the little memory with a smile, and turn with all kindly wishes and greetings to the reality.” She was too fond of, too engrossed with, and by, her husband, to be piqued by my cool remarks. She was not a flirt--I could see that. She had acted the coquette to suit her own purpose: and that being served, she had torn up the mask. “I hope you will like Theodore,” she said, earnestly. “I know you despised him, but I daresay you were prejudiced, because you suspected I preferred him to you. Did you notice that he has taken off his ring, Charlie?” “I can’t say I did.” “He has, then; and his hand is wonderfully improved. Oh, he is so affectionate! some of these days mamma will feel heartily ashamed of herself for treating him so badly.” “No doubt--but still your mother has a right to regard your elopement as a grievance.” “I never would have eloped hadn’t mamma prevented Theodore from seeing me, and set her face so passionately against our marriage. She forgets that I have known Theodore for over three years, and that we have loved each other for two years out of that time. I got weary, Charlie, of having to meet him stealthily, and of carrying a heavy secret about; and I was driven into running away when I saw how earnestly mamma was working to bring about my marriage with you.”