VI.
In October I met him at Doubleton; we spent three days there together. He was enjoying his respite, as he did n't scruple to tell me; and he talked to me a great deal—as usual—about Lady Vandeleur. He did n't mention Joscelind's name, except by implication in this assurance of how much he valued his weeks of grace.
"Do you mean to say that, under the circumstances, Lady Vandeleur is willing to marry you?"
I made this inquiry more expressively, doubtless, than before; for when we had talked of the matter then he had naturally spoken of her consent as a simple contingency. It was contingent upon the lapse of the first months of her bereavement; it was not a question he could begin to press a few days after her husband's death.
"Not immediately, of course; but if I wait, I think so." That, I remember, was his answer.
"If you wait till you get rid of that poor girl, of course."
"She knows nothing about that,—it's none of her business."
"Do you mean to say she does n't know you are engaged?"
"How should she know it, how should she believe it, when she sees how I love her?" the young man exclaimed; but he admitted afterwards that he had
