But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Then he stood up and repeated it again. The inn was a military haunt. Mr. Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett and her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of women’s position become the material for the most delightful and amazing descriptions. ’ Her face fell.
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