grooms. He knew young married couples in
all their varieties:--The couples who try to behave as if they had been
married for many years; the couples who attempt no concealment, and
take advice from competent authorities about them. The couples who are
bashfully talkative before third persons; the couples who are bashfully
silent under similar circumstances. The couples who don't know what
to do, the couples who wish it was over; the couples who must never
be intruded upon without careful preliminary knocking at the door; the
couples who _can_ eat and drink in the intervals of "bliss," and the
other couples who _can't._ But the bridegroom who stood helpless on
one side of the door, and the bride who remained locked in on the other,
were new varieties of the nuptial species, even in the vast experience
of Mr. Bishopriggs himself.

"Hoo are ye to get her oot?" he repeated. "I'll show ye hoo!" He
advanced as rapidly as his gouty feet would let him, and knocked at
the bedroom door. "Eh, my leddy! here he is in flesh and bluid.
Mercy preserve us! do ye lock the door of the nuptial chamber in your
husband's face?"

At that unanswerable appeal the lock was heard turning in the door. Mr.
Bishopriggs winked at Arnold with his one available eye, and laid his
forefinger knowingly along his enormous nose. "I'm away before she
falls into your arms! Rely on it I'll no come in again without knocking
first!"

He left Arnold alone in the room. The bedroom door opened slowly by a
few inches at a time. Anne's voice was just audible speaking cautiously
behind it.

"Is that you, Geoffrey?"

Arnold's heart began to beat fast, in anticipation of the disclosure
which was now close at hand. He knew neither what to say or do--he
remained silent.

Anne repeated the question in louder tones:

"Is that you?"

There was the certain prospect of alarming her, if some reply was not
given. There was no help for it. Come what come might, Arnold answered,
in a whisper:

"Yes."

The door was flung wide open. Anne Silvester appeared on the threshold,
confronting him.

"Mr. Brinkworth!!!" she exclaimed, standing petrified with astonishment.

For a moment more neither of them spoke. Anne advanced one step into
the sitting-room, and put the next inevitable question, with an
instantaneous change from surprise to suspicion.

"What do you want here?"

Geoffrey's letter represented the only possible excuse for Arnold's
appearance in that place,