ge?'

'That depends on your behaviour, Captain Pendle. But I am both pleased
and relieved that the bishop consents to the marriage.'

'Aunty!' cried Mab, reddening a trifle,'don't talk as though it were a
favour. I do not look upon myself as worthless, by any means.'

'Worthless!' echoed George, gaily; 'then is gold mere dross, and
diamonds but pebbles. You are the beauty of the universe, my darling,
and I your lowest slave.' He threw himself at her feet. 'Set your pretty
foot on my neck, my queen!'

'Captain Pendle,' said Miss Whichello, striving to stifle a laugh, 'if
you don't get up and behave properly I shall leave the room.'

'If you do, aunty, he will get worse,' smiled Mab, ruffling what the
barber had left of her lover's hair. 'Get up at once, you--you mad
Romeo.'

George rose obediently, and dusted his knees. 'Juliet, I obey,' said he,
tragically; 'but no, you are not Juliet of the garden; you are
Cleopatra! Semiramis! the most imperious and queenly of women. Where did
you get your rich eastern beauty from, Mab? What are you, an Arabian
princess, doing in our cold grey West? You are like some dark-browed
queen! A daughter of Bohemia! A Romany sorceress!'

Mab laughed, but Miss Whichello heaved a quick, impatient sigh, as
though these eastern comparisons annoyed her. George was unconsciously
making remarks which cut her to the heart; and almost unable to control
her feelings, she muttered some excuse and glided hastily from the room.
With the inherent selfishness of love, neither George nor Mab paid any
attention to her emotion or departure, but whispered and smiled and
caressed one another, well pleased at their sweet solitude. George spent
one golden hour in paradise, then unwillingly tore himself away. Only
Shakespeare could have done justice to the passion of their parting.
Kisses and sighs, last looks, final handclasps, and then George in the
sunshine of the square, with Mab waving her handkerchief from the open
casement. But, alas! workaday prose always succeeds Arcadian rhyme, and
with the sinking sun dies the glory of the day.

With his mind hanging betwixt a mental heaven and earth, after the
similitude of Mahomet's coffin, George walked slowly down the street,
until he was brought like a shot eagle to the ground by a touch on the
shoulder. Now, as there is nothing more annoying than such a bailiff's
salute, George wheeled round with some vigorous language on the tip of
his tongue, but did not