Town,--I will not say till Alice had promised to share
his home in Cambridgeshire, but so long that he had resolved before
he went that he would ask her to do so. He had asked her, and we
know that he had been successful. He had obtained her promise, and
from that moment all his life had been changed for him. Hitherto at
Nethercoats his little smoking-room, his books, and his plants had
been everything to him. Now he began to surround himself with an
infinity of feminine belongings, and to promise himself an infinity
of feminine blessings, wondering much that he should have been
content to pass so long a portion of his life in the dull seclusion
which he had endured. He was not by nature an impatient man; but now
he became impatient, longing for the fruition of his new idea of
happiness,--longing to have that as his own which he certainly loved
beyond all else in the world, and which, perhaps, was all he had ever
loved with the perfect love of equality. But though impatient, and
fully aware of his own impatience, he acknowledged to himself that
Alice could not be expected to share it. He could plan nothing
now,--could have no pleasure in life that she was not expected to
share. But as yet it could not be so with her. She had her house
in London, her town society, and her father. And, inasmuch as the
change for her would be much greater than it would be for him, it was
natural that she should require some small delay. He had not pressed
her. At least he had not pressed her with that eager pressure which
a girl must resist with something of the opposition of a contest,
if she resist it at all. But in truth his impatience was now waxing
strong, and during the absence in Switzerland of which we have
spoken, he resolved that a marriage very late in the autumn,--that a
marriage even in winter, would be better than a marriage postponed
till the following year. It was not yet late in August when the party
returned from their tour. Would not a further delay of two months
suffice for his bride?

Alice had written to him occasionally from Switzerland, and her
first two letters had been very charming. They had referred almost
exclusively to the tour, and had been made pleasant with some
slightly coloured account of George Vavasor's idleness, and of Kate's
obedience to her brother's behests. Alice had never written much of
love in her love-letters, and Grey was well enough contented with her
style, though it was not impassioned. As