ll? She was never ill in her life," exclaimed Mrs. Newell, as though
her daughter had been accused of an indelicacy.

"It was only that you said you had come over on her account."

"So I have. Hermione is to be married."

Mrs. Newell brought out the words impressively, drawing back to observe
their effect on her visitor. It was such that he received them with a
long silent stare, which finally passed into a cry of wonder. "Married?
For heaven's sake, to whom?"

Mrs. Newell continued to regard him with a smile so serene and
victorious that he saw she took his somewhat unseemly astonishment as a
merited tribute to her genius. Presently she extended a glittering hand
and took a sheet of note paper from the blotter.

"You can have that put in to-morrow's _Herald_," she said.

Garnett, receiving the paper, read in Hermione's own finished hand: "A
marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, between the
Comte Louis du Trayas, son of the Marquis du Trayas de la Baume, and
Miss Hermione Newell, daughter of Samuel C. Newell Esqre. of Elmira, N.
Y. Comte Louis du Trayas belongs to one of the oldest and most
distinguished families in France, and is equally well connected in
England, being the nephew of Lord Saint Priscoe and a cousin of the
Countess of Morningfield, whom he frequently visits at Adham and
Portlow."

The perusal of this document filled Garnett with such deepening wonder
that he could not, for the moment, even do justice to the strangeness
of its being written out for publication in the bride's own hand.
Hermione a bride! Hermione a future countess! Hermione on the brink of
a marriage which would give her not only a great "situation" in the
Parisian world but a footing in some of the best houses in England!
Regardless of its unflattering implications, Garnett prolonged his
stare of mute amazement till Mrs. Newell somewhat sharply
exclaimed--"Well, didn't I always tell you that she would marry a
Frenchman?"

Garnett, in spite of himself, smiled at this revised version of his
hostess's frequent assertion that Hermione was too goody-goody to take
in England, but that with her little dowdy air she might very well "go
off" in the Faubourg if only a _dot_ could be raked up for her--and the
recollection flashed a new light on the versatility of Mrs. Newell's
genius.

"But how did you do it--?" was on the tip of his tongue; and he had
barely time to give the query the more conventional turn of: "How di