"Oh, Letitia! let us have the marriage ceremony first. Why on earth will you saddle the miserable man with a large family so soon? And wouldn't a small one do? Of what use to pile up the agony to such a height?" "I think of no one but Molly. There is nothing so terrible as a long engagement, and that is what it will come to. Do you remember Sarah Annesley? She grew thinner and thinner day by day, and her complexion became positively yellow when Perceval went away. And her mother said it was suspense preying upon her." "So they _said_, my dear; but we all _know_ it was indigestion." "John,"--austerely,--"what is the exact amount of Mr. Luttrell's income?" "About six hundred a year, I think." "As much as that?" Slightly relieved. "And will his father allow him anything more?" "Unless you insist upon my writing to Sir William, I could not tell you that." "Six hundred a year is far too little." "It is almost as much as we have." "But you are not in the army, and you are not a fashionable young man." "If you say that again I shall sue for a divorce. But seriously, Letty, perhaps you are exciting yourself about nothing. Who knows but they are indifferent to each other?" "I fear they are not. And I will not have poor Molly made unhappy." "Why not 'poor Luttrell'? It is far more likely as I see it." "I don't want any one to be unhappy. And something must be done." "Exactly." After a pause, with ill-concealed cowardice: "Will you do it?" "Do what?" "That awful 'something' that is to be done." "Certainly not. It is your duty to--to--find out everything, and ask them both what they mean." "Then I won't," declares John, throwing out his arms decisively. "I would not be bribed to do it. What! ask a man his intentions! I couldn't bring myself to do such a thing. How could I look him in the face again? They must fight the best battle they can for themselves, like every one else. I won't interfere." "Very good. I shall speak to Molly. And I really think we ought to go and look them up. I have seen neither of them since breakfast time." "The rain has ceased. Let us go out by the balcony," says Mr. Massereene, stepping through the open window. "I heard them in the school-room as I passed." Now, this balcony, as I have told you, runs along all one side of the house, and on it the drawing-room, school-room, and one of the parlor windows open. Thick curtains hang from them and conceal in part the outer world; so that when John and Letty stand before the school-room window to look in they do so without being themselves seen. And this, I regret to say, is what they see: In the centre of the room a square table, and flying round and round it, with the tail of her white gown twisted over her right arm, is Miss Massereene, with Mr. Luttrell in full chase after her. "Well, upon my word!" says Mr. Massereene, unable through bewilderment to think of any remark more brilliant.