Nor did Carinthia Jane hear any mention of Lord Fleetwood from her brother on the landing-place at Dover.

She was taken to Admiral Baldwin Fakenham's house in Hampshire; and there she remained, the delight of his life, during two months, patiently expecting and rebuking the unmaidenliness of her expectations, as honest young women in her position used to do.

So did they sometimes wait for years; they have waited until they withered into their graves, like the vapours of a brief winter's day: a moving picture of a sex restrained by modesty in those purer times from the taking of one step forward unless inquired for.
Two months she waited in our 'dark land.' January arrived, and her brother.

Henrietta communicated the news: 'My Janey, you are asked by Lord Fleetwood whether it is your wish that he should marry you.' Now, usually a well-born young woman's answer, if a willing one, is an example of weak translation.

Here it was the heart's native tongue, without any roundabout, simple but direct.
'Oh, I will, I am ready, tell him.' Remember, she was not speaking publicly.
Henrietta knew the man enough to be glad he did not hear.