"To say the truth, my dear George, your letter startled me a
little. To think that I, scarcely six months settled in the
profession, should be admitted so far into the romance of it as to
unite forever two young runaways like yourself and Miss Julia
What's-her-name is at least curious. But, to give you your due,
you have made a strong case of it, and as Miss ---- (what is her
name, I have not yours at hand) is not under any real
guardianship, I do not see but I am perfectly justified in
complying with your rather odd request. You see I make a
conscientious matter of it.

"Write me word when it shall be, and I will be sure to be ready.
Jane is of course in my counsels, and she will make your little
wife feel as much at home as in her father's parlor. Trust us for
secrecy.

"I met her last week--"

But the rest of the letter has nothing to do with the story.

The elopement alluded to in it (if the little transaction deserves so
high-sounding a name) was, in every sense of the words, strictly
necessary. Julia Wentworth had resided for years with her grandfather, a
pragmatic old gentleman, to whom from pure affection she had long
yielded an obedience which he would have had no right to extort, and
which he was sometimes disposed to abuse. He had declared in the most
ingenuous manner that she should never marry with his consent any man of
less fortune than her own would be; and on his consent rested the
prospect of her inheriting his property.