"What is the difference in our ages. dear?" Constance turned her
fresh young face to mine--fresh and young still, though more than
thirty-five years had thrown across it their lights and shadows, and
laid her head fondly against my breast.
I kissed her tenderly, and she answered her own question.
"Ten years; and you are not so much my senior. I do not see any
force in that objection. Still if I had been commissioned to select
a wife for Mr. Wallingford, I would not have chosen Florence
Williams."
"Her father is well off, and growing richer every day."
"Worth taking into the account, I suppose, as one of the reasons in
favor of the choice," said my wife. "But I hardly think Wallingford
is the man to let that consideration have much influence."
There was no mistake about the matter of furnishing Ivy Cottage, as
the place was called. I saw carpets going in on the very next day.
All the shrubbery had been trimmed, the grounds cleared up and put
in order, and many choice flowers planted in borders already rich in
floral treasures.
Curiosity now began to flutter its wings, lift up its head, and look
around sharply.
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