"He sounds most fascinating," said Mrs. Worsley. "Of course Lennie was never at all clever. I don't think he ever read a book in his life. When I met him first I was acting in burlesque, and I had to make up my mind between him and my profession; I'm so glad I chose him. But at first I was rather miserable. His parents were still alive, and though they were very kind to me, I was always an intruder, and of course Lennie was dependent on them, for he was much too stupid an old darling to earn his own living. He really has nothing but his niceness. Then his parents died and, being an only son, Lennie had all the money. We lived for a time in his father's house, but it became impossible. We had my poor old mother down to stay with us, and the neighbors called, as if she were a curiosity. When she didn't appear at tea, you could feel they were staying on, hoping against hope to get a glimpse of her. I expect I was sensitive and rather silly, but I was miserable. And then Lennie, who is not clever, but so nice that it always leads him to do exactly the right thing, went away suddenly and bought this house, where life has been one long dream of happiness. You've seen how utterly self-contained we are. Nobody comes to visit us very much, because when we first came here we used to hide when people called. And then the twins have always been such a joy--oh, dear, I wish they would never grow up; but there's still Hercules, and you never know, there might be another baby. Oh, my dear Sylvia, I'm sure you ought to get married. And you say his parents are dead?" "But he has a sister." "Oh, a sister doesn't matter. And it doesn't matter his being clever and fond of books, because you're fond of books yourself. The twins tell me you've read everything in the world and that there's nothing you don't know. I'm sure you'd soon get tired of Hornton House--oh, yes, I strongly advise you to get married." When Sylvia got back to London the memory of Arbour End rested in her thoughts like a pleasant dream of the night that one ponders in a summer dawn. She assured Miss Ashley that she was longing to marry Philip; and when she seemed to express in her reception of the announcement a kind of puzzled approval, Sylvia spoke with real enthusiasm of her marriage. Miss Ashley never knew that the real inspiration of such enthusiasm was Arbour End and not at all Philip himself. As for Sylvia, because she would by no means admit even to herself that she had taken Mrs. Worsley's advice, she passed over the advice and remarked only the signs of happiness at Arbour End. Sylvia and Philip were married at a registry-office early in October. The honeymoon was spent in the Italian lakes, where Philip denounced the theatrical scenery, but crowned Sylvia with vine-leaves and wrote Latin poetry to her, which he translated aloud in the evenings as well as the mosquitoes would let him. CHAPTER VII