low, with all my heart. 'Pon my word, I am very glad, for I
always felt afraid you would, like Morvillier's _garcon_, resist all the
attractions of a woman until the '_cent mille ecus_,' and then, without
hesitation, declare, '_J'epouse_.' But you were too good to be spoiled."

"As for my goodness, there's not much of _that_," replied Fane; "I am
afraid I am much better off than I deserve. I wrote to the governor last
night: dear old boy! he will do anything _I_ ask him. By the by, Mary
will be married soon too. I hope you are not _epris_ in that quarter,
Fred?--pray do not faint if you are. _My_ Florence, who can do anything
she likes with anybody (do you think any one _could_ be angry with
_her_?) coaxed old Aspeden into consenting to Mary's marriage with a
fellow she really is in love with--Graham, a barrister. I think she
would have had more difficulty with the lady-mother, if a letter had not
most opportunely come from Graham this morning, announcing the agreeable
fact that he had lots of tin left him unexpectedly. I wish somebody
would do the same by me. And so this Graham will fly down on the wings
of love--represented in these days by the express train--to-morrow
evening."

"And how about the foreign service, Fane?" I could not help asking.
"And do you intend going to London to-morrow?"

"I made those two resolutions under very different circumstances to the
_present_, my dear fellow," laughed Fane: "the first, when I determined
to cut away from Florence altogether, as the only chance of forgetting
her; sad the second, when I thought poor Mount was an accepted lover,
and I confess that I did not feel to have stoicism enough to witness his
happiness. But how absurd it seems that _I_ should have fallen in love,"
continued he; "_I_, that defied the charms of all the Venuses upon
earth--the last person any one would have taken for a marrying man. I am
considerably astonished myself! But I suppose love is like the
whooping-cough, one must have it some time or other." And with these
words the gallant captain raised himself from the sofa, lighted a cigar,
and, strolling out of the room, mounted his horse for Woodlands, where
he was engaged of course to dinner that evening.

And now, gentle reader, what more is there to tell? I fear as it is I
have written too "much about nothing," and as thou hast, I doubt not, a
fine imagination, what need to tell how Lord Avanley and Mr. Aspeden
arranged matters, not like the cros