ssion, "took me in hand." This taking in hand meant principally
marching me off to the tailors and hosiers to order new clothes.
"A man when he is going to be married," he said sententiously, "must
make a clean sweep of all his old clothes and start afresh. It's a
duty he owes to his future wife--and his tailor!"
He of course elected himself my best man, and only regretted that I was
not in the "Brigade" that a dash of colour might be added to the
ceremony by lining the church with his dear "Coldstreamers."
He was, however, getting tired of the Army. He confided to me his
intention to "chuck it" at an early date, and devote himself to a
country life entirely.
"In fact," he added, summing up the whole situation, "I mean to buy
pigs and live pretty," whatever that expression might mean. His ideas
of matrimony were, however, almost entirely of a pessimistic order, as
he was for ever slapping me on the back and urging me to buck up,
mistaking those delicious love musings which, I suppose, every
bridegroom indulges in for fits of depression.
"My dear children," said the old Don to us one day, when we were all
together, he, Dolores, and I; "my dear children, I want you to make me
a promise."
"Of course we will, Padre," we both answered. "What is it?"
The "Padre" and the "dear children" were now well established forms of
address, and I think the old man delighted in them.
"I want you to promise me," he replied, "that you will spend _some_
part of the year with me in Valoro."
"Of course we will," we chorused.
Dolores whispered a few words in my ear to which I readily nodded
assent.
"Padre," she continued aloud, "we will come and spend Christmas and the
New Year with you, and we will bring Lord St. Nivel and Ethel with us.
I am sure they will come. Then," she added, turning to me, "we will
have all our courtship over again."
In such happy thoughts the time sped away. Don Juan, as an act of
gratitude for what he called "a dutiful acquiescence" to his wishes,
purchased a town house for us in Grosvenor Square.
"During the season," he added meditatively, "perhaps you will find a
little room for me"--most of the best bedrooms measured about 25 by
40--"that is all I need. After consideration, I have decided that it
would be too much to ask you to have any of my dear snakes. If I bring
any with me, I shall board them out at the Zoo."
The tenant of my manor house by the Solent, when he heard I was
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