The butler gave a demure glance at his mistress, who was still blushing a good deal, as she had done when she pushed away the chair. ‘Thank you, Jenkins!’ said Oliver. He took the letter and looked at it before he opened it. He thought he had seen the handwriting before, but could not remember where. He felt a little afraid of it; he could not tell why. He turned it over in his hand and hesitated, and would have liked to put it in his pocket and carry it away with him for perusal afterwards. What could be so _Immediate_ as to require his attention now--a bill, perhaps? He ran over the list of possibilities in that way, and did not remember anything. ‘What is it, Oliver?’ said Grace. ‘Haven’t you opened it? Oh, but you must open it when it is marked Immediate. It must be business, of course.’ ‘I should think it’s a hoax,’ he said slowly, ‘a circular, or something of that sort’ and crushed it in his hand. Then as she made a little outcry--‘Well, I’ll open it to please you. All women, I perceive, believe in letters,’ he said, with a smile. The joke was but a small one at the best--it seemed smaller and smaller as he opened the envelope and read what was written within. Grace had gone away to re-arrange some flowers on the table, to leave him at liberty. She bent over them, taking out some that were beginning to fade, pulling them about a little till the moment should be over. It seemed to run into two or three minutes, and Oliver did not say anything or even move. He would generally say, ‘Oh, it is So-and-so!’--some friend who sent his congratulations. That was the chief subject of all their letters at the present time. They were letters which were handed from one to another with little notes of admiration. ‘Poor fellow, he is as pleased as possible.’ ‘What a nice letter, Oliver! I am sure he must be fond of you,’ and so forth, and so forth. But he said nothing about this. To be sure, it was business. She turned round at last, not knowing what to do; wondering, when your bridegroom does not tell you of a thing, what is your duty in the circumstances. To ask, or to hold your tongue? Grace was not jealous, or ready to take offence. And she was very anxious to do her duty. What ought she to do? He folded up the letter, as he heard her move, and turned towards her, but without raising his eyes. His face was clouded and dark. He put it into his pocket, and they sat down and began to talk, but not as before, though of the same subject. At last he said, abruptly, ‘I think I will go up to town, Grace. You suggested it, you know,’ as if he had altogether forgotten all that he had said, which she had chidden him for, and loved him for, all that pleasant nonsense about himself. She was startled for a moment; then replied quietly, ‘Yes, Oliver, I do think it will be the best way--’