they settle down with
animated faces to serious perusal of their letters. They may just as
well drink their coffee, though, and Julius will presently light his
cigar for anything we know to the contrary; but we shall not see it,
for when we have transcribed the two letters they are reading we
shall lay down our pen, and then, if you want to know any more about
the people in this story, you must inquire of the originals, all of
whom are still living except Dr. Vereker's mother, who died last year,
we believe. Here are the letters:

"MY DEAREST TISHY,

"I have a piece of news to tell that will be a great surprise
to you. I am engaged to Conrad Vereker. Perhaps, though, I
oughtn't to say as much as that, because it hasn't gone any
farther at present than me promising not to marry any one
else, and as far as I can see I might have promised any man
that.

"Now, don't write and say you expected it all along, because
I shan't believe you.

"Of course, tell anybody you like--only I hope they'll all say
that's no concern of theirs. I should be so much obliged to
them. Besides, so very little has transpired to go by that I
can't see exactly what they could either congratulate or twit
about. Being engaged is so very shadowy. Do you remember our
dancing-mistress at school, who had been engaged seven years
to a dancing-master, and then they broke it off by mutual
consent, and she married a Creole? And they'd saved up enough
for a school of their own all the time! However, as long as
it's distinctly understood there's to be no marrying at
present, I don't think the arrangement a bad one. Of course,
you'll understand I mean other girls, and the sort of men they
get engaged to. With Prosy it's different; one knows where one
is. Only I shouldn't consider it honourable to jilt Prosy,
even for the sake of remaining single. You see what I mean.

"The reason of pencil (don't be alarmed!) is that I am writing
this in bed, having been too long in the water. It's to please
Prosy, because my System has had a shake. I _am_ feeling very
queer still, and can't control my thumb to write. I must tell
you about it, or you'll get the story somewhere else and be
frightened.

"It was all Jeremiah's fault, and I really can't think what
he was doing. He admits that he was seedy, and had had a bad
night. Anyhow, it