"How odd it seems!" said Estelle, in a low voice, and after a long pause, as she lay back in the farmer's black-leather elbow chair, where his wife had kindly placed and pillowed her; and while she spoke, her eyes were half closed and her lips were wreathed with smiles; "engaged to be married--and to you, Harry! I can scarcely' realise it. Is this the end of all our ballroom flirtations, our Park drives, and gallops in the Row?" "Nay, not the end of any; but a continuance of them all, I hope." "Scarcely; people don't flirt after marriage--together, at least. But it will be the end of all mamma's grand schemes for me. She always hoped I should twine strawberry leaves with my marriage wreath. Heavens, how nearly I was having a wreath of seaweed!" she added, with a shudder and a little gasping laugh as I kissed her hand. "O, my poor Harry, with an arm broken, and by my means I shall never forgive myself--never!" "Better an arm than if my heart had been broken by your means, Estelle," said I, in a low voice. After a little she said calmly and in an earnest tone, while her colour came and went more than once, "We must be _secret_, secret as we are sincere; and yet such a system is repugnant to me, and to my pride of heart." "Secret, Estelle!" (How delicious to call her simply Estelle!) "Why?" "It is most necessary--yet awhile, at least." "Your mamma's objections?" "More than that." "What--more?" "By papa's will mamma has entire control over all her fortune and mine, too, and should I marry without her full approbation and consent, she may bequeath both if she pleases to my cousin Naseby, leaving but a pittance to me." "But what will not one undergo for love?" said I, gazing tenderly into her eyes. She smiled sadly, but made no response; perhaps she thought of what love might have of luxury on a subaltern's pay and his "expectations." "Fear not, Estelle," said I, "for your sake our engagement shall be a secret one."