His unwillingness to urge any point upon which a mother he idolised seemed disinclined to enter, had hitherto kept him silent; but now silence seemed false delicacy, and he owed to himself to investigate the mystery which oppressed his once easy and happy home. He felt, too, that he was acting unjustly by Ethel: he had allowed a fortnight to elapse—he startled when he numbered up the days; it is strange how we allow them to glide imperceptibly away. He resolved no longer to delay the avowal of his engagement. Had his mother permitted it, she would have received his first confidence; as it was, to acknowledge his attachment became a duty to her who was now his first and dearest object.
With these thoughts passing in his mind, it may be supposed how much the cook's feelings would have been hurt, could she have known how the collared eels and raised pies, on which she had expended her utmost skill, were neglected.
Constance was the happiest one of the
