you
think? My uncle is going to marry Miss Carthew?"

"Get out," scoffed Michael, whose brain, overwhelmed by the pealing
thunders of his late interview, refused to register any more shocks.

"No, really. Read this."

Michael took the piece of paper and read the news. But he was still
under the influence of a bad year, and instead of dancing with Alan to
the tune of his excitement, grumbled:

"Well, why didn't Miss Carthew send a telegram to me? I think she might
have. I believe this is all bally rot."

Alan's face changed, changed indeed to an expression of such absolute
disappointment that Michael was touched and, forgetting all that he had
endured, thrust his arm into Alan's arm and murmured:

"By Jove, old Alan, it is rather decent, isn't it?"

When Michael reached the House, he found a letter from Miss Carthew,
which consoled him for that bad year and made him still more penitent
for his late ungraciousness towards Alan.

COBBLE PLACE,

_My dear old Michael_, _July 27_.

_You will be tremendously surprized to hear that I am going to
marry Captain Ross. I fancy I can hear you say 'What rot, I don't
believe it!' But I am, and of course you can understand how
gloriously happy I feel, for you know how much you liked him. Poor
old boy, I'm afraid you've had a horrid time all this year and I
wish I hadn't been so stupid as to get ill, but never mind, it's
over now and Captain Ross and I are coming up to London to fetch
you and Alan down here to spend the whole of the holidays and make
the wedding a great success. May, Joan and Nancy and my mother all
send their very best love and Nancy says she's looking forward to
your new ties (I don't know what obscure jest of hers this is) and
also to hear of your engagement (silly girl!). I shall see you on
Wednesday and you're going to have splendid holidays, I can promise
you. Your mother writes to say that she is coming back to live at
home in September, so there'll be no more boarding-school for you.
Stella wrote to me from Germany and I hear from Frau Weingardt that
everybody prophesies a triumphant career for her, so don't snub her
when she comes back for her holidays in the autumn. Just be as nice
as you can, and you can be very nice if you like. Will you? Now,
dear old boy, my best love till we meet on Wednesday._

_Your loving_

_Maud Carth