"No. I should make my way to Parksides, and take my presents with me, and give her a delightful surprise."

"Do you really think I might venture?"

"_I_ shouldn't think twice about it," said f.a.n.n.y, vivaciously. "But you mustn't come with us, because, of course, we don't know anything about it. We shall be quite astonished when you make your appearance with a flourish of trumpets."

There and then the affectionate conspiracy was discussed and planned, and Fred said that f.a.n.n.y was the dearest girl living, which f.a.n.n.y disputed, asking how could she be when Phoebe stopped the way.

It was about noon on the Sat.u.r.day that f.a.n.n.y said to her mother, "I am going to let you into a secret."

Aunt Leth's thoughts immediately travelled to Fred Cornwall. She had observed the whispered conference which had taken place on the previous night between the young man and her daughter, with their heads very close together, and she had formed her own conclusions; and now the secret was about to be revealed. Fred had been making serious love to f.a.n.n.y; there could not be a doubt that this was f.a.n.n.y's secret.

"Yes, my dear," said Mrs. Lethbridge, tenderly.

"It is about Mr. Cornwall," said f.a.n.n.y.

"Yes, f.a.n.n.y."

Despite her joy, a pang went right through her heart; it is always so with affectionate parents when the bolt really falls, and the contemplation of a beloved daughter leaving the happy home becomes a certainty.

"And Phoebe," said f.a.n.n.y.

Mrs. Lethbridge's face underwent a change. In matters of the heart a woman's instincts are lightning-tipped.

"I have an idea," said f.a.n.n.y, "that they are fond of each other."

Mrs. Lethbridge looked apprehensively at her daughter, but she saw in f.a.n.n.y's face no despondency, no disappointment. On the contrary, it was radiant. The fond mother smiled.

"Only an idea, f.a.n.n.y?" she asked.

"Only an idea, mother," said f.a.n.n.y. "There has been nothing really serious said, but I am certain I am not mistaken. Now confess, mother; you thought I was the magnet?"

"Well, my dear, I did have a suspicion, and it has been proved to be wrong."

"You are not sorry, mother?"

"No, my dear, so long as you are happy. That is my only care."

"I am perfectly happy, and I mean to die an old maid. Dear Phoebe! I do hope everything will turn out right."

"We all hope so, f.a.n.n.y. I suppose I must not say anything to her?"

"Not for worlds, mother. You must wait till she speaks to you."

"I am not so sure, f.a.n.n.y. She has no mother to confide in, and to whom she can unreservedly open her heart. I must think over it, for her sake."

"If you thought Mr. Cornwall was good enough for me," said f.a.n.n.y, "he is good enough for Phoebe."

"My dear, the cases are different."

"How different?"

"Mr. Cornwall knows her position. If it had been you instead of Phoebe, he would not have expected money with you. When people have arrived at the time of life which your father and I have reached, and have children whom they love as we love ours, they cannot help feeling a little disturbed at their want of fortune. Young men nowadays look out for money; it is not as it used to be."

"It is with me, mother. I am an old-fashioned girl, and if a young man casts sheeps' eyes at me it will be a satisfaction to know that it isn't my dowry that attracts him. And for my part, mother, I mean to marry for love--if I ever _do_ marry."

"I am glad to hear you say so, my dear; they are the happiest marriages. Our life has been a happy one: never for one moment have I regretted marrying your father."

"I should think not, mother! Who is there in the world to compare with him?"

"There is not one, my dear. It would be difficult indeed to meet with a man so good, so unselfish, so devoted. But we were speaking of Phoebe.

The cases are different, I said. Mr. Cornwall would have had no difficulty in obtaining our consent, had it been you instead of Phoebe.

Have you forgotten that Phoebe has a father?"

"I did not think of him," said f.a.n.n.y, a little depressed by the allusion. "But what objection could he have to Mr. Cornwall?"

"That is not for us to say. Phoebe's father is a peculiar man, and he may have views for Phoebe of which we are ignorant. Mr. Cornwall's suit will rest with him, not with us."

"Mr. Cornwall is a gentleman."

"Undoubtedly; and, so far as I can judge, calculated to make a girl happy. But that is not the question."

"What is the question, mother?"

"Money. f.a.n.n.y, what I am about to say must not pa.s.s out of this room."

"Very well, mother."

"Phoebe's father may say to Mr. Cornwall: 'You ask me for my daughter's hand. How much money have you got?'"

"What a coa.r.s.e way of putting it!" exclaimed f.a.n.n.y disdainfully.

"I am aware of it, but for Phoebe's sake I am trying to think it out in the way it will happen. I have never inquired into Mr. Cornwall's circ.u.mstances; but they are not very flourishing at present, are they?"

"I don't think they are."

"I know they are not. He and your father have had conversations which lead me to the belief that he earns just a sufficient income to keep himself comfortably."

"He is very clever in his profession; and there is the future."

"That is one of the things I am thinking of," said Mrs. Lethbridge, gravely: "the future. 'How much money have you got?' Phoebe's father will ask him; and when the young man answers honestly--as Mr. Cornwall is sure to do--Phoebe's father will say, 'As you have no money of your own, you come after my daughter's.' I am very much afraid of it, f.a.n.n.y.

I pray that there is no trouble in store for her."

"Mother, you frighten me." f.a.n.n.y experienced at that moment a feeling of terror at the conspiracy into which she and Fred Cornwall had entered, which was to result in Fred's unexpected appearance at Parksides with birthday presents for Phoebe. She did not dare to refer to it, so she kept the secret locked in her breast.

"I do not wish to frighten you, my dear," said Mrs. Lethbridge, "and perhaps, after all, I am only raising bug-bears. Let us hope for the best."

"We will," said f.a.n.n.y, brightening up instantly. She was like an April day; the least glimpse of sunshine brought gladness to her. "And now, mother, just one word."

"Well, my dear?"