She had not had her way. She remembered that at the moment. But then, perhaps, the major-general had had his. When a period of life has come too late for success, when all has been failure, the expanding triumphs of the glorious young, grate upon the feelings even of those who are generous and self-denying. Miss Gregory was generous by nature and self-denying by practice, but Philip’s pæan and Bessy’s wondrous prosperity were for a moment a little hard upon her. There had been a comfort to her in the conviction that Philip was no better than the major-general. “I suppose it is so,” she said. “That is, if one of them has means.” “Exactly.” “But if they are both poor, I don’t see how their being young can enable them to live upon nothing.” She intended to imply that Philip probably would have been another major-general, but that he was heir to Launay. Philip, who had never heard of the major-general, was a little puzzled; nevertheless, he acceded to the proposition, not caring, however, to say anything as to his own circumstances on so very short an acquaintance. Then Bessy came down with her hat, and they started for their walk. “Now tell me all about it,” she said, in a fever of expectation, as soon as the front door was closed behind them. “There is nothing more to tell,” said he. “Nothing more?” “Unless you want me to say that I love you.” “Of course I do.” “Well, then,--I love you. There!” “Philip, you are not half nice to me.” “Not after coming all the way from Launay to say that?” “There must be so much to tell me? Why has my aunt sent for me?” “Because she wants you.” “And why has she sent you?” “Because I want you too.” “But does she want me?” “Certainly she does.” “For you?” If he could say this, then everything would have been said. If he could say this truly, then everything would have been done necessary for the perfection of her happiness. “Oh, Philip, do tell me. It is so strange that she should send for me! Do you know what she said to me in her last letter? It was not a letter. It was only a word. She said that I was her enemy.” “All that is changed.” “She will be glad to have me again?” “Very glad. I fancy that she has been miserable without you.” “I shall be as glad to be with her again, Philip. You do not know how I love her. Think of all she has done for me!” “She has done something now that I hope will beat everything else.” “What has she done?” “She has consented that you and I shall be man and wife. Isn’t that more than all the rest?” “But has she? Oh, Philip, has she really done that?”