"Well, I hope it's all right" (the "hope" in italics), "but it's curious--very curious. Are you quite sure he is Colonel Wilton?" "Yes." "How do you know?" "Because he was frequently at Brosedale, and known to Sir Peter Fergusson." "Ay, to be sure, that's true! I suppose it's to be a private marriage. We must see that it is quite correct, for, high or low, a wife has her rights. What did he say about going to church?" "Oh! I scarcely know; something about my having been three weeks in the parish, and--" "Did he?" returned Mrs. Kershaw; a more satisfied expression stealing over her face. "That looks like business, only I trust and hope he has not a wife already." "What a fearful suspicion!" replied Ella, shuddering, while she smiled. "He was looked upon as an unmarried man at Brosedale, for I remember that Donald remarked that Miss Saville could find time to amuse him now, because Colonel Wilton condescended to visit him, and that he would be a peer, a nobleman, one day." "A peer! a lord! well, I never! Of all the queer turns, this is the queerest. Still, I would like to make sure that there is no hitch nowhere. But, bless your heart, no gentleman or nobleman would go to church with a girl unless he was all square." "I must trust him utterly, or not at all, he said. I do trust him," said Ella, softly, to herself, "even as he trusts me." She was sitting on the hearth-rug, gazing dreamily at a small but bright morsel of fire held together by fire-bricks. "Trust is a word I never liked," observed Mrs. Kershaw, who was sitting bolt upright in an easy chair. "Ready money, in everything, is my motto; still, I must say, this gentleman seems straightforward." Mrs. Kershaw's opinions had become visibly modified since the rank of her fair _protégé's_ intended had been revealed to her. "I think he is," said Ella, simply. "Anyhow, I will speak to him myself to-morrow," continued Mrs. Kershaw, "and let him know you have a friend to look after you as knows the world," she added, emphatically. Silence ensued; for, in truth, Ella was too glad of the cessation of Mrs. Kershaw's wiry voice to break it, when that lady burst out again with a jerk: "You'd best take my parlors--they ought to be thirty shillings a week, but I will give them to you for a guinea." "But why must I take them?" asked Ella. "Because-- Why, my patience, Miss Rivers, you are not going to turn stingy, and you going to be a great lady. Why must you take them? Because it is only decent and proper; there's scarce room to turn round in a three-cornered cupboard like this place. I'm sure a fine, handsome man like the colonel hasn't room to move here; and then for the wedding. This day week did you say? Why, whatever shall we do about wedding clothes? Still I wouldn't say nothing about putting off; you'd better strike while the iron is hot! But _have_ you thought of the wedding clothes, Miss Rivers?" "No, I do not want any. I have more clothes than I ever had in my life before."