"MY DEAR SIR,--The proposal contained in your letter has rather surprised me, as we have seen so little of each other, but after consulting my parents I may say that I do not refuse, and they desire me to add that there will be a room for you here whenever your business engagements permit you to visit us. Sincerely yours, "MARGARET ANISON." It is to be supposed that Mr. Ogden felt sensations of profound happiness on reading this little perfumed note; but when a man is an old bachelor by nature, he does not become uxorious in a week or two; and we may confess that, after the unpleasantness of the first shock, a positive refusal would have left the lover's mind in a state of far more perfect happiness and calm. His pride was gratified, his passion was fortunate in dreaming of its now certain fruition, and he knew that such a woman as Margaret Anison would add greatly to his position in the world. He knew that she would improve it in one way, but then he felt anxiously apprehensive that she might deteriorate it in another. He would become more of a gentleman in society with a lady by his side, but a wife and family would be a hindrance to his pecuniary ambition. From the hour of his acceptance he saw this a good deal more clearly than he had done since this passion implanted itself in his being. He had seen it clearly enough before he knew Margaret Anison, but the strength of a new passion acting upon a nature by no means subtly self-conscious, had for a time obscured the normal keenness of his sight. After re-reading Margaret's note for the tenth time, Mr. Jacob Ogden said to himself: "She's a fine girl--there isn't a finer lass in all Manchester; but I'm a damned fool--that's what I am. What have I to do goin' courtin'? Howsomever, it's no good skrikin' over spilt milk--we mun manage as well as we can. We've plenty to live on, and she can have four or five servants, if she'll nobbut look well afther 'em." Then he went into the little sitting-room, where his mother sat mending his stockings. "Mother," he said, abruptly, "there's news for you. Somebody's boun' to be wed." The stocking was deposited in Mrs. Ogden's lap, and she looked at her son with fixed eyes. "It's owther our Isaac or me, and it isn't our Isaac." "Why, then, it's thee, Jacob." "You're clever at guessin', old woman; you always was a 'cute un." "What! are you boun' to wed somebody at Whittlecup?" "She doesn't live a hundred mile off Whittlecup." Mrs. Ogden rose from her seat and laid down her stocking, and made slowly for the door. She stopped, however, midway, and with a stately gesture pointed to the mended stocking. "Can she darn like that?" "She 'appen can do, mother." "Han you seen her do?" "No."