s to go out into all the
draughts of the house. That's the fashion, I know. But I hope you'll
excuse me, Sir Henry, for not liking it."

Sir Henry of course did excuse him. There was nothing he himself
liked so much as sitting cosy over a dining-room fire.

In about an hour Caroline did come down again; and in another hour,
before the old man went, she again vanished for the night. Sir Henry
had made up his mind not to speak to Mr. Bertram about money that
evening; so he also soon followed Caroline, and sat down to work upon
the County Courts in his own bedroom.

On the next morning Sir Henry and Caroline went to church. All the
Hadleyians of course knew of the engagement, and were delighted
to have an opportunity of staring at the two turtle-doves. A
solicitor-general in love is a sight to behold; and the clergyman
had certainly no right to be angry if the attention paid to his
sermon was something less fixed than usual. Before dinner, there
was luncheon; and then Sir Henry asked his betrothed if she would
take a walk with him. "Oh, certainly, she would be delighted." Her
church-going bonnet was still on, and she was quite ready. Sir Henry
also was ready; but as he left the room he stooped over Mr. Bertram's
chair and whispered to him, "Could I speak to you a few words before
dinner, sir; on business? I know I ought to apologize, this being
Sunday."

"Oh, I don't care about Sunday," said the stubborn-minded old man. "I
shall be here till I go to bed, I suppose, if you want me."

And then they started on their walk. Oh, those lovers' rambles! A man
as he grows old can perhaps teach himself to regret but few of the
sweets which he is compelled to leave behind him. He can learn to
disregard most of his youth's pleasures, and to live contented though
he has outlived them. The polka and the waltz were once joyous; but
he sees now that the work was warm, and that one was often compelled
to perform it in company for which one did not care. Those picnics
too were nice; but it may be a question whether a good dinner at his
own dinner-table is not nicer. Though fat and over forty he may still
ride to hounds, and as for boating and cricketing, after all they
were but boy's play. For those things one's soul does not sigh. But,
ah! those lovers' walks, those loving lovers' rambles. Tom Moore is
usually somewhat sugary and mawkish; but in so much he was right. If
there be an Elysium on earth, it is this. They are done and over