But then she was not in love with Alaric, and her daughter was.

She thought that Alaric's love was a passion that had but lately come to the birth, and that had he been true to his friend--nobly true as Gertrude had described him--it would never have been born at all, or at any rate not till Harry had had a more prolonged chance of being successful with his suit.
Mrs.Woodward understood human nature better than her daughter, or, at least, flattered herself that she did so, and she felt well assured that Alaric had not been dying for love during the period of Harry's unsuccessful courtship.

He might, she thought, have waited a little longer before he chose for his wife the girl whom his friend had loved, seeing that he had been made the confidant of that love.
Such were the feelings which Mrs.Woodward felt herself unable to repress; but she could not refuse her consent to the marriage.
After all, she had some slight twinge of conscience, some inward conviction that she was prejudiced in Harry's favour, as her daughter was in Alaric's.

Then she had lost all right to object to Alaric, by allowing him to be so constantly at the Cottage; and then again, there was nothing to which in reason she could object.

In point of immediate income, Alaric was now the better match of the two.