so serious an attachment could spring up; why,
it is scarcely a month since you were first
introduced at that ball."

"Mamma," murmured Julia, hanging her head,
"you are mistaken; we knew each other before."

Mrs. Dodd looked all astonishment.

"Now I will make a clean breast of it," said
Julia, impetuously, addressing some invisible
obstacle. "I tell you I am sick of having secrets
from my own mother." And with this out it all
came.

She told the story of her heart better than I
have; and, woman-like, dwelt on the depths of
loyalty and delicate love she had read in Alfred's
moonlit face that night at Henley. She said no
eloquence could have touched her like it.
"Mamma, something said to me, 'Ay, look at
him well, for that is your husband; to be.' "She
even tried to solve the mystery of her soi-disant
sickness; "I was disturbed by a feeling so new
and so powerful,* but, above all, by having a
secret from you; the first; the last."

"Well, darling, then why have a secret?
Why not trust me, your friend as well as your
mother?"

"Ah! why, indeed? I am a puzzle to myself.
I wanted you to know, and yet I could not tell
you. I kept giving you hints, and hoped so you
would take them, and make me speak out. But
when I tried to tell you plump, something kept
pull—pull—pulling me inside, and I couldn't.
Mark my words! some day it will turn out that
I am neither more nor less than a fool.''

Mrs. Dodd slighted this ingenious solution.
She said, after a moment's reflection, that the
fault of this misunderstanding lay between the
two. "I remember now I have had many hints;
my mind must surely have gone to sleep. I was
a poor simple woman who thought her daughter
was to be always a child. And you were very
wrong to go and set a limit to your mother's
love: there is none—none whatever." She
added: "I must import a little prudence and
respect for the world's opinion into this new
connexion; but whoever you love shall find no
enemy in me."

Next day, Alfred came to know his fate. He
was received with ceremonious courtesy. At
first he was a good deal embarrassed, but this
was no sooner seen than it was relieved by Mrs.
Dodd with tact and gentleness. When her turn
came, she said, "Your papa? Of course you
have communicated this step to him?"

Alfred looked a little confused, and said,
"No: he left for London two days ago, as it
happens."

"That is unfortunate," said Mrs. Dodd.
"Your best plan would be to write to him at
once; I need hardly tell you that we shall enter
no family without an invitation from its head."

* Perhaps even this faint attempt at self-analysis
was due to the influence of Dr. Whateley. For, by
nature, young ladies of this age seldom turn the eye
inward.

Alfred replied that he was well aware of that,
and that he knew his father, and could answer
for him.

"No doubt," said Mrs. Dodd; "but, as a
matter of reasonable form, I prefer he should
answer for himself."

Alfred would write by this post. "It is a
mere form," said he, "for my father has but one
answer to his children, 'Please yourselves.' He
sometimes adds, 'and how much money shall
you want?' These are his two formulæ."

He then delivered a glowing eulogy on his
father; and Mrs. Dodd, to whom the boy's
character was now a grave and anxious study,
saw with no common satisfaction his cheek
flush, and his eyes moisten, as he dwelt on the
calm, sober, unvarying affection, and reasonable
indulgence, he and his sister had met with all
their lives from the best of parents. Returning
to the topic of topics, he proposed an engagement.
"I have a ring in my pocket," said this
brisk wooer, looking down. But this Mrs. Dodd
thought premature and unnecessary.

"You are nearly of age," said she, "and then
you will be able to marry, if you are in the same
mind." But, upon being warmly pressed, she
half conceded even this. "Well," said she,
"on receiving your father's consent, you can
propose an engagement to Julia, and she shall
use her own judgment. But, until then, you
will not even mention such a thing to her.
May I count on so much forbearance from you,
sir?"

"Dear Mrs. Dodd," said Alfred, "of course
you may. I should indeed be ungrateful if I
could not wait a post for that. May I write to
my father here?" added he, naïvely.

Mrs. Dodd smiled, furnished him with writing
materials, and left him, with a polite excuse.

"Albion Villa, Sept. 29.
"My dear Father,—You are too thorough a
man of the world, and too well versed in human
nature, to be surprised at hearing that I, so long
invulnerable, have at last formed a devoted
attachment to one whose beauty, goodness, and
accomplishments I will not now enlarge upon;
they are indescribable, and you will very soon
see them and judge for yourself; the attachment,
though short in weeks and months, has
been a very long one in hopes, and fears, and
devotion. I should have told you of it before
you left, but in truth I had no idea I was so near
the goal of all my earthly hopes; there were
many difficulties, but these have just cleared
away almost miraculously, and nothing now is
wanting to my happiness but your consent.
It would be affectation, or worse, in me to
doubt that you will grant it. But in a matter
so delicate, I venture to ask you for
something more: the mother of my ever and only
beloved Julia is a lady of high breeding and
sentiments, she will not let her daughter enter any
family without a cordial invitation from its head.
Indeed, she has just told me so. I ask, therefore,