upon the whole I do like it. It's quite time, you know, that he got married."
"He's not thirty yet," said Mrs. Dale.
"He will be, in a month or two."
"And who is it, uncle?"
"Well;—as you're so good at guessing, I suppose you can guess that?"
"It's not that Miss Partridge he used to talk about?"
"No; it's not Miss Partridge,—I'm glad to say. I don't believe that the Partridges have a shilling among them."
"Then I suppose it's an heiress?" said Mrs. Dale.
"No; not an heiress; but she will have some money of her own. And she has connexions in Barsetshire, which makes it pleasant."
"Connexions in Barsetshire! Who can it be?" said Lily.
"Her name is Emily Dunstable," said the squire, "and she is the niece of that Miss Dunstable who married Dr. Thorne and who lives at Chaldicotes."
"She was the woman who had millions upon millions," said Lily, "all got by selling ointment."
"Never mind how it was got," said the squire, angrily. "Miss Dunstable married most respectably, and has always made a most excellent use of her money."
"And will Bernard's wife have all her fortune?" asked Lily.
"She will have twenty thousand pounds the day she marries, and I suppose that will be all."
"And quite enough, too," said Mrs. Dale.
"It seems that old Dr. Dunstable, as he was called, who, as Lily says, sold the ointment, quarrelled with his son or with his son's widow, and left nothing either to her or her child. The mother is dead, and the aunt, Dr. Thorne's wife, has always provided for the child. That's how it is, and Bernard is going to marry her. They are to be married at Chaldicotes in May."
"I am delighted to hear it," said Mrs. Dale.
"I've known Dr. Thorne for the last forty years;" and the squire now spoke in a low melancholy tone. "I've written to him to say that the young people shall have the old place up there to themselves if they like it."
"What! and turn you out?" said Mrs. Dale.
"That would not matter," said the squire.
"You'd have to come and live with us," said Lily, taking him by the hand.
