the dearest; and how they had had a nice chat about nurses and babies, and Charlie; and how she had just got home and was thinking about the Valenciennes round the mantle, when John walked in.
And at this crisis, in walked Willis, comfortably gloomy, after the Marble Hall festivities. "All black again," whispered Rose to her sister, "even to his gloves; then there has been no proposal."
"Or a refusal," answered her sister, "he will be worse than ever."
But Willis was a different mannered man under the control of his sensible, straightforward father-in-law, than when he domineered over the good-natured Mrs. Hopkinson. Captain Hopkinson administered a large spoonful of good sense to every dose of querulousness—put aside the prospect of future grievances, as not worth consideration, and either disputed or laughed at the petty troubles of the day. Parade of real grief he looked upon as an impossibility. It was to be wrestled with alone, not forced on the at-
