owledge or
experience, and it has guided you straight. If you had consented, I
should have lost my respect for you."

And then, as the small view of a thing is apt to enter the female head
along with the big view, she went on, with great animation:

"And then for a young lady to sneak into a church without her friends,
with no carriages, no favors, no wedding cake, no bishop, no proper
dress, not even a bridal veil fit to be seen! Why, it ought to be the
great show of a girl's life, and she ought to be a public queen, at all
events for that one day, for ten to one she will be a slave all the rest
of her life if she loves the fellow."

She paused for breath one moment.

"And it isn't as if you were low people. Why, it reminds me of a thing I
read in some novel: a city clerk, or some such person, took a walk with
his sweetheart into the country, and all of a sudden he said, 'Why, there
is something hard in my pocket. What is it, I wonder? A plain gold ring.
Does it fit you? Try it on, Polly. Why, it fits you, I declare; then keep
it till further orders.' Then they walked a little further. 'Why, what is
this? Two pairs of white gloves. Try the little pair on, and I will try
the big ones. Stop! I declare here's a church, and the bells beginning
to ring. Why, who told them that I've got a special license in my pocket?
Hallo! there are two fellows hanging about; best men, witnesses, or some
such persons, I should not wonder. I think I know one of them; and here
is a parson coming over a stile! What an opportunity for us now just to
run in and get married! Come on, old girl, lend me that wedding ring a
minute, I'll give it you back again in the church.' No, thank you, Mr.
Walter; we love you very dearly, but we are ladies, and we respect
ourselves."

In short, Julia confirmed Mary Bartley in her resolution, but she could
not console her under the consequences. Walter did not write a line
even to her; she couldn't but fear that he was really in despair, and
would cure himself of his affection if he could. She began to pine; the
roses faded gradually out of her cheeks, and Mr. Bartley himself began
at last to pity her, for though he did not love her, he liked her, and
was proud of her affection. Another thing, Hope might come home now any
day, and if he found the girl sick and pining, he might say this is a
breach of contract.

He asked Mary one day whether she wouldn't like a change. "I could take
you to the sea-side," s