hot weather within business reach, there came a letter from him saying
that he was settled at Gormanville, and wishing that he might tempt us
up some afternoon before we were off to the mountains or seaside. This
revived all my wife's waning interest in him, and it was hard to keep
the answer I made him from expressing in a series of crucial inquiries
the excitement she felt at his being in New England and so near Boston,
and in Gormanville of all places. It was one of the places we had
thought of for the summer, and we were yet so far from having
relinquished it that we were recurring from time to time in hope and
fear to the advertisement of an old village mansion there, with ample
grounds, garden, orchard, ice-house, and stables, for a very low rental
to an unexceptionable tenant. We had no doubt of our own qualifications,
but we had misgivings of the village mansion; and I am afraid that I
rather unduly despatched the personal part of my letter, in my haste to
ask what Glendenning knew and what he thought of the Conwell place.
However, the letter seemed to serve all purposes. There came a reply
from Glendenning, most cordial, even affectionate, saying that the
Conwell place was delightful, and I must come at once and see it. He
professed that he would be glad to have Mrs. March come too, and he
declared that if his joy at having us did not fill his modest rectory to
bursting, he was sure it could stand the physical strain of our
presence, though he confessed that his guest-chamber was tiny.

"He wants _you_, Basil," my wife divined from terms which gave me no
sense of any latent design of parting us in his hospitality. "But,
evidently, it isn't a chance to be missed, and you must go--instantly.
Can you go to-morrow? But telegraph him you're coming, and tell him to
hold on to the Conwell place; it may be snapped up any moment if it's so
desirable."