's, after the wedding-party
had gone away. "To think he should have come in such a sweet way and
married Mrs Fred! just what we all were wishing for, if we could have
ventured to think it possible. Indeed, I should have liked to have given
Mr Chatham a little present, just to mark my sense of his goodness. Poor
man! I wonder if he repents----"

"It is to be hoped not yet," said Lucy, hurrying her sister away before
Mr Wentworth could come out and join them; for affairs were seriously
compromised between the perpetual curate and the object of his affections;
and Lucy exhibited a certain acerbity under the circumstances which
somewhat amazed the tender-hearted old maid.

"When people do repent, my belief is that they do it directly," said
Miss Wodehouse. "I daresay he can see what she is already, poor man; and
I hope, Lucy, it won't drive him into bad ways. As for Nettie, I am not
at all afraid about her. Even if they should happen to quarrel, you
know, things will always come right. I am glad they were not married
both at the same time. Nettie has such sense! and of course, though it
was the very best thing that could happen, and a great relief to everybody
concerned, to be sure, one could not help being disgusted with that
woman. And it is such a comfort they're going away. Nettie says----"

"Don't you think you could walk a little quicker? there is somebody in
Grove Street that I have to see," said Lucy, not so much interested as
her sister; "and papa will be home at one to lunch."

"Then I shall go on, dear, if you have no objection, and ask when the
doctor and Nettie are coming home," said Miss Wodehouse, "and take poor
little Freddy the cakes I promised him. Poor child! to have his mother
go off and marry and leave him. Never mind me, Lucy, dear; I do not walk
so quickly as you do, and besides I have to go home first for the
cakes."

So saying the sisters separated; and Miss Wodehouse took her gentle
way to the doctor's house, where everything had been brightened up, and
where Freddy waited the return of his chosen guardians. It was still the
new quarter of Carlingford, a region of half-built streets, vulgar new
roads, and heaps of desolate brick and mortar. If the doctor had ever
hoped to succeed Dr Marjoribanks in his bowery retirement in Grange
Lane, that hope nowadays had receded into the darkest distance. The
little surgery round the corner still shed twinkles of red and blue
light across that desolate tri