“I don’t see what preparation is necessary; but you know best, my dear. When can we arrange for you and Molly to meet?”

Just then a servant came in, and the pair started apart.

“Her ladyship is awake, and wishes to see Mr. Gibson.”

They both followed the man upstairs; Mrs. Kirkpatrick trying hard to look as if nothing had happened, for she particularly wished “to prepare” Lady Cumnor; that is to say, to give her version of Mr. Gibson’s extreme urgency, and her own coy unwillingness.

But Lady Cumnor had observant eyes, in sickness as well as in health. She had gone to sleep with the recollection of the passage in her husband’s letter full in her mind; and, perhaps, it gave a direction to her wakening ideas.

“I’m glad you’re not gone, Mr. Gibson. I wanted to tell you——What’s the matter with you both? What have you been saying to Clare? I’m sure something has happened.”

There was nothing for it, in Mr. Gibson’s opinion, but to make a clean breast of it, and tell her ladyship all. He turned round, and took hold of Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s hand, and said out straight, “I have been asking Mrs. Kirkpatrick to be my wife, and to be a mother to my child; and she has consented. I hardly know how to thank her enough in words.”

“Umph! I don’t see any objection. I daresay you’ll be very happy. I’m very glad of it! Here! shake hands with me, both of you!” Then laughing a little, she added, “It does not seem to me that any exertion has been required on my part.”

Mr. Gibson looked perplexed at these words. Mrs. Kirkpatrick reddened.

“Did she not tell you? Oh, then, I must. It’s too good a joke to be lost, especially as everything has ended so well. When Lord Cumnor’s letter came this morning—this very morning, I gave it to Clare to read aloud to me; and I saw she suddenly came to a full stop, where no full stop could be; and I thought it was something about Agnes, so I took the letter and read—stay! I’ll read the sentence to you. Where’s the letter, Clare? Oh, don’t trouble yourself; here it is. ‘How are Clare and Gibson getting on? You despised my advice to help on that affair, but I really think a little match-making would be a very pleasant amusement, now that you are shut up in the house; and I cannot conceive any marriage more suitable.’ You see, you have my lord’s full approbation. But I must write, and tell him you have managed your own affairs without any interference of mine. Now we’ll just have a little medical talk, Mr. Gibson, and then you and Clare shall finish your tête-à-tête.”

They were neither of them quite as desirous of further conversation together as they had been before the passage out of Lord Cumnor’s letter had been read aloud. Mr. Gibson tried not to think about it; for he was aware that if he dwelt upon it, he might get to fancy all sorts of things as to the conversation which had ended in his offer. But Lady Cumnor was imperious now, as always.

“Come, no nonsense! I always made my girls go and have tête-à-têtes with the men who were to be their husbands, whether they would or no; there’s a great deal to be talked over before every marriage, and you two are certainly old enough to be above affectation. Go away with you!”

So there was nothing for it but for them to return to the library; Mrs. Kirkpatrick pouting a little, and Mr. Gibson feeling more like his own cool, sarcastic self, by many degrees, than he had done when last in that room.

She began, half crying—


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