everybody melted away, leaving the
ushers to go round and collect the blotting-paper and pens which strewed
the empty court.

"And now, good people," said Lady Holmhurst, "I think that the best thing
that we can do is all to go home and rest before dinner. I ordered it at
seven, and it is half-past five. I hope that you will come, too, Mr.
Short, and bring your brother with you; for I am sure that you, both of
you, deserve your dinner, if ever anybody did."

And so they all went, and a very jolly dinner they had, as well they
might. At last, however, it came to an end, and the legal twins departed,
beaming like stars with happiness and champagne. And then Lady Holmhurst
departed also, and left Eustace and Augusta alone.

"Life is a queer thing," said Eustace; "here this morning I was a
publisher's reader at L180 a year; and now, to-night, if this verdict
holds, it seems that I am one of the wealthiest men in England."

"Yes, dear," said Augusta, "and with all the world at your feet, for life
is full of opportunities to the rich. You have a great future before you,
Eustace; I really am ashamed to marry so rich a man."

"My darling," he said, putting his arm round her; "whatever I have I owe
to you. Do you know there is only one thing that I fear about all this
money, if it really comes to us; and that is that you will be so taken up
with what pleasure-seeking people call social duties, and the
distribution of it, that you will give up your writing. So many women are
like that. Whatever ability they have seems to vanish utterly away upon
their wedding-day. They say afterwards that they have no time, but I
often think it is because they do not choose to make time."

"Yes," answered Augusta; "but then that is because they do not really
love their work, whatever it may be. Those who really love their art as
I love mine, with heart and soul and strength, will not be so easily
checked. Of course, distractions and cares come with marriage; but, on
the other hand, if one marries happily, there comes quiet of mind and
cessation from that ceaseless restlessness that is so fatal to good
work. You need not fear, Eustace; if I can, I will show the world that
you have not married a dullard; and if I can't--why, my dear, it will be
because I am one."

"That comes very nicely from the author of 'Jemima's Vow,'" said Eustace,
with sarcasm. "Really, my dear, what between your fame as a writer and as
the heroine of the shipwreck an