There did not seem to exist a doubt in any of their minds as to what her answer would be. The whole question had been from the beginning, whether or not he would come to the point, and the lady’s privilege of saying no, seemed in that family to be utterly forgotten. Ellen was too young and too timid to discover it for herself, and she found herself the affianced wife of a man, whom a fortnight before she had never seen, and whom, during that fortnight, she had been taking care not to prefer. The affair was decided. The lover was all rapture—Captain Wareham all satisfaction—Caroline all surprise that Mr. Cresford should have behaved in so gentlemanlike a manner, not keeping her sister in any uncertainty, but setting her mind at ease at once. She was too good-natured and too affectionate, to feel any thing like envy, but she wished Captain Barton had behaved in the same noble manner to her. Ellen was surprised not to find herself happier on so quickly arriving at that result, which had been the object of her sister’s wishes for six years and a half. But she was afraid of Mr. Cresford. He was easily hurt, easily offended; he was expecting, and jealous; he would not allow her to go to any more of the balls; he scarcely liked to see her acknowledge, much less shake hands with, any of her former acquaintance. Ellen was subdued, rather than elated, by her approaching nuptials. Caroline one day remarked upon her unusual seriousness, and asked her if she and Mr. Cresford had not had a lovers’ quarrel. “Oh, no,” replied Ellen; “but it is difficult, you know, sister, to love a person all at once, particularly when one has been trying not to like him at all. However, I dare say I shall soon, when I am more accustomed to him. It is not easy to do just right; for a girl is not to like a man till he proposes, and then she ought to love him very much as soon as ever she is going to be married to him.” Mr. Cresford was the only son of wealthy parents, and was accustomed to find his wishes laws to those around him. His father had died when he was barely twenty-one, and had left him at the head of a thriving mercantile house. He fell in love with Ellen at first sight,—he proposed at once, had been accepted, and, following the course of his own impetuous passions, was now eager that the wedding-day should be fixed. Captain Wareham had no wish to postpone it, and in three weeks more Ellen left the paternal roof as the wife of Mr. Cresford. She was astounded and confused at the whole thing; she had not been allowed time to become attached to him, even if he had been all a maiden’s imagination could picture in its happiest day-dream. But there was a want of refinement in the headlong course of his love, a want of consideration; in fact, there was a selfishness, which did not win its way to the heart of a very modest, very young, and very sensitive girl.