Yes, the lovers still could keep only secret trysts. Mr. Bicknell's fear of Dr. Rhudde remained unabated; he dared not admit the artist to his house. Constable begged, pleaded, and implored. But all in vain. And for a long time even Maria failed to wheedle her father into a more reasonable frame of mind. But at last, in February 1815, she was able to write to her lover: "My dearest John, - I have received from papa the sweet permission to see you again under this roof" - to use his own words - " 'as an occasional visitor.' "

And, needless to say, Constable's definition of an occasional visitor was a very generous one. "Sir," Mr. Bicknell had occasion to remark one day - he had entered the drawing-room hastily - "if you were the most approved of lovers, you could not take a greater liberty with my daughter."

"And, sir," replied the incorrigible artist, still sitting on the sofa, "do you not know that I am the most approved of lovers?"

But, in spite of all, Mr. Bicknell's former fears were not unfounded. In fact, the inevitable occurred. Dr. Rhudde heard of what was happening. And the rector of East Bergholt, parson or no parson, possessed a very healthy temper. "The doctor," Maria wrote to Constable," has just sent such a letter that I tremble with having only heard a part of it read. Poor, dear papa, to have such a letter written to him! He has a great share of feeling, and it has sadly hurt him. . . . Perhaps the storm may blow over; God only knows. . . . Pray do not come over to town just yet."

But Constable was at once human and unkind enough secretly to rejoice at these tidings. If Dr. Rhudde meant what he said, and had ceased to regard Maria as his granddaughter, surely there was no need to consult the old man's wishes further. Accordingly he wrote: "Our business is now more than ever with ourselves. I am entirely free from debt, and I trust, could I be made happy, to receive a good deal more than I do now by my profession. After this, my dear Maria, I have nothing more to say than the sooner we are married, the better. ... I wish your father to know what I have written if you think with me."

But Mr. Bicknell still urged the lovers to be patient. "Papa says, if we remain as we are," Maria wrote, "he has no expectation that the doctor will alter his will. Let us wait any time rather than you should experience the misery of being much in debt, added to having a very delicate wife."

But then the unexpected happened. Golding Constable died, and his death brought at once joy and sorrow to the son. Sorrow - for he was devoted to his father; joy - because suddenly he found himself the possessor of £4,000. Four thousand pounds! This removed all fear of present poverty. He must get married immediately, and he wrote to his friend Archdeacon Fisher asking for advice. The reply is characteristic of the man. It bears the date of August 27, 1816.

"My dear Constable, - I am not a great letter writer, and when I take pen in hand, I generally come to the point at once. I therefore, write to tell you that I intend to be in London on Tuesday evening the 24th, and on Wednesday shall hold myself ready and happy to marry you. There, you see, I have used no roundabout phrases, but said the thing at once in good plain English. So, do you follow my example, and get to your lady, and instead of blundering out long sentences about 'the Hymeneal altar, etc.,' say that on Wednesday, September 21, you are ready to marry her. If she replies like a sensible woman, as I suspect she is: 'well, John, here is my hand, I am ready,' all well and good. If she says, 'yes; but another day will be more convenient,' let her name it, and I am at her service."

And Constable, acting on this advice, went to his lady. And his lady, being a true woman, proceeded then to exercise to the full her womanly prerogative. First she said one thing, then another. Even so late as the 15th of September, she remained undecided. "I hope we are not going to do a very foolish thing," she wrote. "... It is not too late to follow papa's advice and wait." But then she added: "Notwithstanding all I have been writing, whatever you deem best, I do."

And she did. For on "an enchanting morning," October 2,1816, the Reverendjohn Fisher united her to John Constable in marriage, and - for true stories, as well as fairy tales, can end like this - they lived happily ever afterwards. Mr. Bicknell soon forgave Maria for disregarding his advice, and when he died, even the relentless Dr. Rhudde left her a very useful legacy.

Ill-health was the young couple's one great enemy. But then, long before her marriage, Maria had warned Constable that he would find her delicate. The truth is, she was consumptive, and it was of this pitiless disease that she died in November, 1828.

To Constable her death came as an overwhelming sorrow. Nothing could console his grief. And when, three months later, he was elected an Academician, he found the honour robbed of all its charm, for. he said, "It has been delayed until I am solitary, and cannot impart it."

But still he had his children. They were very dear to him, especially little Maria. "I watch all her dear ways," he wrote, "with mingled smiles and tears . . . this dear image of her mother. . . What a blessing and comfort to my old age! . . . I have, indeed, much to be thankful for."

Love

The Sulky Lover - Tearful Girls Most Difficult - The Teasing Lover - The Engaged Man who is in no Hurry to Marry - The "Butterfly" who Cannot Give Up Flirting in the first flush of their happiness an engaged couple are apt to think each other perfect, and to deny stoutly that any cloud could ever come between them, or that they did not understand each other perfectly.

But some lovers are very difficult indeed; and as time goes on, and they become more natural with each other, human faults begin to show themselves.