h, Horace!" exclaimed Aunt Harriet.

"It's mine," said the young man with a nervous little laugh. "And--since
Brackenhill is mine too--it is time that my wife should come home."

There was a startled movement and a sudden exclamation of surprise,
though it would have been impossible to say who moved or spoke.

"Your wife! Do you mean that you are going to be married?" said
Hardwicke.

"No. I mean that I am married," Horace replied. "Oh, it's all right
enough. I took care of that. You shall know all about it."

"But how? when? who is she?" Mrs. Middleton had her hand on his arm and
was stammering in her eagerness. "Oh, my dear boy, why didn't we know?"

"Because Mrs. Horace Thorne was Miss Adelaide Blake," said Hammond
decisively.

Horace turned upon him and said "No," and he was utterly confounded.

"But who, then? Tell us."

Horace looked at Percival, the only one who had been silent. "Why not
Lottie?" he said, and the tone was full of meaning.

Percival stared at him for a moment, and then leapt to his feet. "It
isn't true!" he exclaimed.

"Indeed! And why not?" said Horace. "If I may ask--"

"Lottie do anything underhand! Lottie! It can't be true!"

"You're very kind, but Lottie doesn't want your championship, thank
you," said Horace with an angry sneer. "No doubt you find it very
incredible that she should prefer mine."

"Oh, by all means, if it suits her," scoffed Percival, and sat down
again, feeling stunned, robbed and duped.

"And as to anything underhand--" Horace began fiercely.

Aunt Harriet, scared by the menacing clash of words, uttered a faint
little cry.

"Percival! Horace!" said Godfrey Hammond, "you forget what day this
is--you forget Mrs. Middleton. For God's sake don't quarrel before
her!--Horace, is this really true? Is Lottie your wife?"

"Yes," said the young man, turning quickly toward him: there was a
sudden light of tenderness in his glance--"since last November." He
paused, and then added softly, "the third," as if the date were
something sacred. "Hammond, you know her: you know how young she
is--only eighteen this month. If you choose to blame any one, blame me.
And I'm not ashamed of what I've done." He looked defiantly round. "I'm
proud of having won her; and as to my having concealed it, I ask you, in
common fairness, what else could I do? My grandfather used to be very
good to me, but of late he was set against me." A quick glance at
Percival, who smiled loftily. "Wha