'Alfred, of course,' said the Doctor. 'Nothing would serve you but
you must be called Alfred's wife; so we called you Alfred's wife;
and you liked it better, I believe (odd as it seems now), than
being called a Duchess, if we could have made you one.'

'Indeed?' said Grace, placidly.

'Why, don't you remember?' inquired the Doctor.

'I think I remember something of it,' she returned, 'but not much.
It's so long ago.' And as she sat at work, she hummed the burden
of an old song, which the Doctor liked.

'Alfred will find a real wife soon,' she said, breaking off; 'and
that will be a happy time indeed for all of us. My three years'
trust is nearly at an end, Marion. It has been a very easy one. I
shall tell Alfred, when I give you back to him, that you have loved
him dearly all the time, and that he has never once needed my good
services. May I tell him so, love?'

'Tell him, dear Grace,' replied Marion, 'that there never was a
trust so generously, nobly, steadfastly discharged; and that I have
loved YOU, all the time, dearer and dearer every day; and O! how
dearly now!'

'Nay,' said her cheerful sister, returning her embrace, 'I can
scarcely tell him that; we will leave my deserts to Alfred's
imagination. It will be liberal enough, dear Marion; like your
own.'