She could no longer, she said at first, have any faith in any religion; and for an hour or so she was almost tempted to swear that she could no longer have any faith in any man. She had nearly completed a worked cover for a credence-table when the news reached her, as to which, in the young enthusiasm of her heart, she had not been able to remain silent; it had already been promised to Mr Oriel; that promise she swore should not be kept. He was an apostate, she said, from his principles; an utter pervert; a false, designing man, with whom she would never have trusted herself alone on dark mornings had she known that he had such grovelling, worldly inclinations. So Miss Gushing became an Independent Methodist; the credence-table covering was cut up into slippers for the preacher's feet; and the young thing herself, more happy in this direction than she had been in the other, became the arbiter of that preacher's domestic happiness.
But this little history of Miss Gushing's future life is premature. Mr Oriel became engaged demurely, nay, almost silently, to Beatrice, and no one out of their own immediate families was at the time informed of the matter. It was arranged very differently from those other two matches--embryo, or not embryo, those, namely, of Augusta with Mr Moffat, and Frank with Mary Thorne. All Barsetshire had heard of them; but that of Beatrice and Mr Oriel was managed in a much more private manner.
'I do think you are a happy girl,' said Patience to her one morning.
'Indeed I am.'
'He is so good. You don't know how good he is as yet; he never thinks of himself, and thinks so much of those he loves.'
Beatrice took her friend's hand in her own and kissed it. She was full of joy. When a girl is about to be married, when she may lawfully talk of love, there is no music in her ears so sweet as the praises of her lover.
'I made up my mind from the first that he should marry you.'
'Nonsense, Patience.'
'I did, indeed. I made up my mind that he should marry; and there were only two to choose from.'
'Me and Miss Gushing,' said Beatrice, laughing.
'No; not exactly Miss Gushing. I had not many fears for Caleb there.'
'I declare she is very pretty,' said Beatrice, who could afford to be good-natured. Now Miss Gushing certainly was pretty; and would have been very pretty had her nose not turned up so much, and could she have parted her hair in the centre.
'Well, I am very glad you chose me;--if it was you who chose,' said Beatrice, modestly; having, however, in her own mind a strong opinion that Mr Oriel had chosen for himself, and had never any doubt in the matter. 'And who was the other?'
'Can't you guess?'
'I won't guess any more; perhaps Mrs Green.'
'Oh, no; certainly not a widow. I don't like widows marrying. But of course you could guess if you would; of course it was Mary Thorne. But I soon saw Mary would not do, for two reasons; Caleb would never have liked her well enough nor would she have ever liked him.'
'Not like him! oh I hope she will; I do so love Mary Thorne.'
'So do I dearly; and so does Caleb; but he could never have loved her as he loves you.'
'But, Patience, have you told Mary?'
'No, I have told no one, and shall not without your leave.'
'Ah, you must tell her. Tell it her with my best, and kindest, warmest love. Tell her how happy I am, and how I long to talk to her. Tell that I will have her for my bridesmaid. Oh! I do hope that before that all this horrid quarrel will be settled.
