“Girls are coming on nowadays,” he said, with much amusement. “Why, in my time, a young woman would have been all blushes and downcast glances. If any one had talked of marriage she would have prayed Heaven to send an earthquake to swallow her up.” “Fiddlesticks!” said Miss Ley. Bertha was looking at Dr. Ramsay with a smile that she with difficulty repressed, and Miss Ley caught the expression. “So you intend to be married, Bertha?” said the doctor, again laughing. “Yes.” “When?” asked Miss Ley, who did not take Bertha’s remark as merely playful. Bertha was looking out the window, wondering when Edward would arrive. “When?” she repeated, turning round. “This day four weeks!” “What!” cried Dr. Ramsay, jumping up. “You don’t mean to say you’ve found some one! Are you engaged? Oh, I see, I see. You’ve been having a little joke with me. Why didn’t you tell me that Bertha was engaged all the time, Miss Ley?” “My good doctor,” answered Miss Ley, with great composure, “until this moment I knew nothing whatever about it.... I suppose we ought to offer our congratulations; it’s a blessing to get them all over on one day.” Dr. Ramsay looked from one to the other with perplexity. “Well, upon my word,” he said, “I don’t understand.” “Neither do I,” replied Miss Ley, “but I keep calm.” “It’s very simple,” said Bertha. “I got engaged last night, and as I say, I mean to be married exactly four weeks from to-day--to Mr. Craddock.” “What!” cried Dr. Ramsay, jumping up in astonishment and causing the floor to quake in the most dangerous way. “Craddock! What d’you mean? Which Craddock?” “Edward Craddock,” replied Bertha coolly, “of Bewlie’s Farm.” “Brrh!!” Dr. Ramsay’s exclamation cannot be transcribed, but it sounded horrid! “The scoundrel! It’s absurd. You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Bertha looked at him with a gentle smile, but did not trouble to answer. “You’re very emphatic, dear doctor,” said Miss Ley. “Who is this gentleman?” “He isn’t a gentleman,” said Dr. Ramsay, purple with vexation. “He’s going to be my husband, Dr. Ramsay,” said Bertha, compressing her lips in the manner which with Miss Ley had become habitual; and turned to that lady: “I’ve known him all my life, and father was a great friend of his father’s. He’s a gentleman-farmer.” “The definition of which,” said Dr. Ramsay, “is a man who’s neither a farmer nor a gentleman.” “I forget what your father was?” said Bertha, who remembered perfectly well. “My father was a farmer,” replied Dr. Ramsay, with some heat, “and, thank God! he made no pretence of being a gentleman. He worked with his own hands; I’ve seen him often enough with a pitchfork, turning over a heap of manure, when no one else was handy.” “I see,” said Bertha. “But my father can have nothing to do with it; you can’t marry him because he’s been dead these thirty years, and you can’t marry me because I’ve got a wife already.”