if one could ransack the private
history of all the Claverings for the last hundred years. I hope, Miss
Burton, that any marvels which may attend your career here may be happy
marvels." She then took Florence by the hand, and, drawing close to her,
stooped over and kissed her. "You will think me a fool, of course," said
she, "but I do not care for that." Florence now was in tears, and could
make no answer in words; but she pressed the hand which she still held,
and then followed her companion back into the house. After that the
visit was soon brought to an end, and the three ladies from the rectory
returned across the park to their house.

Chapter LII

Conclusion

Florence Burton had taken upon herself to say that Mrs. Clavering would
have no difficulty in making to Mr. Saul the communication which was now
needed before he could be received at the rectory, as the rector's
successor and future son-in-law; but Mrs. Clavering was by no means so
confident of her own powers. To her it seemed as though the undertaking
which she had in hand was one surrounded with difficulties. Her husband,
when the matter was being discussed, at once made her understand that he
would not relieve her by an offer to perform the task. He had been made
to break the bad news to Lady Clavering, and, having been submissive in
that matter, felt himself able to stand aloof altogether as to this more
difficult embassy. "I suppose it would hardly do to ask Harry to see him
again," Mrs. Clavering had said. "You would do it much better, my dear."
the rector had replied. Then Mrs. Clavering had submitted in her turn;
and when the scheme was fully matured, and the time had come in which
the making of the proposition could no longer be delayed with prudence,
Mr. Saul was summoned by a short note. "Dear Mr. Saul:--If you are
disengaged, would you come to me at the rectory at eleven to-morrow?
Yours ever, M. C." Mr. Saul of course said that he would come. When the
to-morrow had arrived and breakfast was over, the rector and Harry took
themselves off somewhere about the grounds of the great house, counting
up their treasures of proprietorship, as we can fancy that men so
circumstanced would do, while Mary Fielding, with Fanny and Florence,
retired up stairs, so that they might be well out of the way. They knew,
all of them, what was about to be done, and Fanny behaved herself like a
white lamb, decked with bright ribbons for the sacrificial altar. T