“Bernard is going to be married,” said Lily.
“How did you know?” said the squire.
“I didn’t know. I only guessed.”
“Then you’ve guessed right,” said the squire, a little annoyed at having his news thus taken out of his mouth.
“I am so glad,” said Mrs. Dale; “and I know from your manner that you like the match.”
“Well—yes. I don’t know the young lady, but I think that upon the whole I do like it. It’s quite time, you know, that he got married.”
“He’s not thirty yet,” said Mrs. Dale.
“He will be, in a month or two.”
“And who is it, uncle?”
“Well;—as you’re so good at guessing, I suppose you can guess that?”
“It’s not that Miss Partridge he used to talk about?”
“No; it’s not Miss Partridge—I’m glad to say. I don’t believe that the Partridges have a shilling among them.”
“Then I suppose it’s an heiress?” said Mrs. Dale.
“No; not an heiress; but she will have some money of her own. And she has connections in Barsetshire, which makes it pleasant.”
“Connections in Barsetshire! Who can it be?” said Lily.
“Her name is Emily Dunstable,” said the squire, “and she is the niece of that Miss Dunstable who married Dr. Thorne and who lives at Chaldicotes.”
“She was the woman who had millions upon millions,” said Lily, “all got by selling ointment.”
“Never mind how it was got,” said the squire, angrily. “Miss Dunstable married most respectably, and has always made a most excellent use of her money.”
“And will Bernard’s wife have all her fortune?” asked Lily.
“She will have twenty thousand pounds the day she marries, and I suppose that will be all.”
“And quite enough, too,” said Mrs. Dale.
“It seems that old Dr. Dunstable, as he was called, who, as Lily says, sold the ointment, quarrelled with his son or with his son’s widow, and left nothing either to her or her child. The mother is dead, and the aunt, Dr. Thorne’s wife, has always provided for the child. That’s how it is, and Bernard is going to marry her. They are to be married at Chaldicotes in May.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” said Mrs. Dale.
“I’ve known Dr. Thorne for the last forty years;” and the squire now spoke in a low melancholy tone. “I’ve written to him to say that the young people shall have the old place up there to themselves if they like it.”
“What! and turn you out?” said Mrs. Dale.
“That would not matter,” said the squire.
“You’d have to come and live with us,” said Lily, taking him by the hand.
“It doesn’t matter much now where I live,” said the squire.
“Bernard will never consent to that,” said Mrs. Dale.
“I wonder whether she’ll ask me to be a bridesmaid?” said Lily. “They say that Chaldicotes is such a pretty place, and I should see all the Barsetshire people that I’ve been hearing about from Grace. Poor Grace! I know that the Grantlys and the Thornes are very intimate. Fancy Bernard having twenty thousand pounds from the making of ointment!”
“What does it matter to you where it comes from?” said the squire, half in anger.
“Not in the least; only it sounds so odd. I do hope she’s a nice girl.”
Then the squire produced a photograph of Emily Dunstable which his nephew had sent to him, and they all pronounced her to be very pretty, to be very much like a lady, and to be very good-humoured. The squire was evidently pleased with the match, and therefore the ladies were pleased also. Bernard Dale was the heir to the estate, and his marriage was of course a matter of moment; and as on such properties as that of Allington money is always wanted, the squire may be forgiven for the great importance which he attached to the young lady’s fortune. “Bernard could hardly have married prudently without any money,” he said—“unless he had chosen to wait till I am gone.”
“And then he would have been too old to marry at all,” said Lily.
But the squire’s budget of news had not yet been emptied. He told them soon afterwards that he himself had been summoned up to London. Bernard had written to him, begging him to come and see the young lady; and the family lawyer had written also, saying that his presence in town would be very desirable.
“It is very troublesome, of course; but I shall go,” said the squire.
“It will do you all the good in the world,” said Mrs. Dale; “and of course you ought to know her personally before the marriage.”
And then the squire made a clean breast of it and declared his full purpose. “I was thinking that, perhaps, Lily would not object to go up to London with me.”
“Oh, uncle Christopher, I should so like it,” said Lily.
“If your mamma does not object.”
“Mamma never objects to anything. I should like to see her objecting to that!” And Lily shook her head at her mother.
“Bernard says that Miss Dunstable particularly wants to see you.”
“Does she, indeed? And I particularly want to see Miss Dunstable. How nice! Mamma, I don’t think I’ve ever been in London since I wore short frocks. Do you remember taking us to the pantomime? Only think how many years ago that is. I’m quite sure it’s time that Bernard should get married. Uncle, I hope you’re prepared to take me to the play.”
“We must see about that!”
“And the opera, and Madame Tussaud, and the Horticultural Gardens, and the new conjuror who makes a woman lie upon nothing. The idea of my going to London! And then I suppose I shall be one of the bridesmaids. I declare a new vista of life is opening out to me! Mamma, you mustn’t be dull while I’m away. It won’t be very long, I suppose, uncle?”
“About a month, probably,” said the squire.
“Oh, mamma; what will you do?”
“Never mind me, Lily.”
“You must get Bell
