osed to
check its development. I see you understand me, just as by intuitive
fine feeling you can penetrate the meaning of Mendelssohn's Songs
without Words. Mrs. Wimbush, you have already far advanced toward
learning the birds' language. I may rely upon your consent?"

"Charles, this happiness is indeed too much," ejaculated the widow.

"You need never be separated from your daughter Carry. A home for one is
a home for both; and I will cherish her while I live."

"But, Charles dear, she may marry."

"Marry, ma'am? Bless my soul, of course she will! She will marry me! She
has said so, don't you see?"

Mrs. Wimbush never said another word, but fell flat down upon the grass.

"What on earth has got the woman?" thought Mr. Charles. "She couldn't
have taken it worse if I had proposed to murder her daughter."

In their walk they had strayed through the trees close to the outskirts
of another picnic party. Mr. Charles immediately ran to ask some fair
volunteer to come to the assistance of Mrs. Wimbush, who had fainted. At
hearing the name, an active middle-aged lady sprang up and followed him.
It was Mrs. Marrables. The sight of her mother brought Mrs. Wimbush
round quicker than any smelling bottle could have done. She sat up.

"Mother, Mr. Brookshank; Mr. Brookshank, my mother, Mrs. Marrables."
They bowed. "Have the goodness to leave us together, Mr. Charles." He
bowed and obeyed. "Mother," said Mrs. Wimbush, "what on earth brought
you here? I thought you were at Taunton."

"No, dear. I have been at Bournemouth three weeks, I came merely for
change. Only last week I heard of your being here, and should have
called, but have been so much occupied, and I felt sure of meeting you
somewhere, and thought the surprise might be the more agreeable. We've
had a most delightful picnic with the Mount Stewart folks. But what was
all this fainting about? One would think Mr. Brookshank had been
proposing to you."

"He certainly made me a proposal mother, but I was quite unprepared for
it, and was overcome."

"What an imaginative and sensitive-minded girl you must be, Matilda! You
make me feel quite young. When will you be old enough to attend to
business? You will accept him, of course? Well, do as you please; you
may reckon on my consent, you know. But I must get back to my party, and
perhaps you had better rejoin yours. Ta-ta."

Jilted for her daughter! It wasn't pleasant. When Mrs. Wimbush got home,
she blew up Carry for