“WILL you tell her?” whispered Sedley to Agnes.

“Oh, no. Do you,” she entreated.

They both looked at Charity, who was preparing the little dog’s supper of bread and milk in a saucer.

“I’ll go in and see papa, and you shall speak to her,” said Agnes.

Which Tom Sedley did, so much to her amazement that she set the saucer down on the table beside her, and listened, and conversed for half an hour; and the poodle’s screams, and wild jumping and clawing at her elbow, at last reminded her that he had been quite forgotten.

So, while its mistress was apologising earnestly to poor Bijou, and superintending his attentions to the bread and milk, now placed upon the floor, in came Agnes, and up got Charity, and kissed her with a frank, beaming smile, and said —

“I’m excessively glad, Agnes. I was always so fond of Thomas Sedley; and I wonder we never thought of it before.”

They were all holding hands in a ring by this time.

“And what do you think Mr. Etherage will say?” inquired Tom.

“Papa! why of course he will be delighted,” said Miss Charity. “He likes you extremely.”

“But you know, Agnes might do so much better. She’s such a treasure, there’s no one that would not be proud of her, and no one could help falling in love with her, and the Ad —— I mean Mr. Etherage, may think me so presumptuous; and, you know, he may think me quite too poor.”

“If you mean to say that papa would object to you because you have only four hundred a year, you think most meanly of him. I know I should not like to be connected with anybody that I thought so meanly of, because that kind of thing I look upon as really wicked; and I should be sorry to think papa was wicked. I’ll go in and tell him all that has happened this moment.”

In an awful suspense, pretty Agnes and Tom Sedley, with her hand in both his, stood side by side, looking earnestly at the double door which separated them from this conference.

In a few minutes they heard Vane Etherage’s voice raised to a pitch of testy bluster, and then Miss Charity’s rejoinder with shrill emphasis.

“Oh! gracious goodness! he’s very angry. What shall we do?” exclaimed poor little Agnes, in wild helplessness.

“I knew it — I knew it — I said how it would be-he can’t endure the idea, he thinks it such audacity. I knew he must, and I really think I shall lose my reason. I could not — I could not live. Oh! Agnes, I couldn’t if he prevents it.”

In came Miss Charity, very red and angry.

“He’s just in one of his odd tempers. I don’t mind one word he says to-night. He’ll be quite different, you’ll see, in the morning. We’ll sit up here, and have a good talk about it, till it’s time for you to go; and you’ll see I’m quite right. I’m surprised,” she continued, with severity, “at his talking as he did to-night. I consider it quite worldly and wicked! But I contented myself with telling him that he did not think one word of what he said, and that he knew he didn’t, and that he’d tell me so in the morning; and instead of feeling it, as I thought he would, he said something intolerably rude.”

Old Etherage, about an hour later, when they were all in animated debate, shuffled to the door, and put in his head, and looked surprised to see Tom, who looked alarmed to see him. And the old gentleman bid them all a glowering good night, and shortly afterwards they heard him wheeled away to his bed-room, and were relieved.

They sat up awfully late, and the old servant, who poked into the room oftener than he was wanted towards the close of their sitting, looked wan and bewildered with drowsiness; and at last Charity, struck by the ghastly resignation of his countenance, glanced at the French clock over the chimney-piece, and ejaculated —

“Why, merciful goodness! is it possible? A quarter to one! It can’t possibly be. Thomas Sedley, will you look at your watch, and tell us what o’clock it really is?”

His watch corroborated the French clock.

“If papa heard this! I really can’t the least conceive how it happened. I did not think it could have been eleven. Well, it is undoubtedly the oddest thing that ever happened in this house!”

In the morning, between ten and eleven, when Tom Sedley appeared again at the drawing-room windows, he learned from Charity, in her own emphatic style of narration, what had since taken place, which was not a great deal, but still was uncomfortably ambiguous.

She had visited her father at his breakfast in the study, and promptly introduced the subject of Tom Sedley, and he broke into this line of observation —

“I’d like to know what the deuce Tom Sedley means by talking of business to girls. I’d like to know it. I say, if he has anything to say, why doesn’t he say it, that’s what I say. Here I am. What has he to say. I don’t object to hear him, be it sense or be it nonsense — out with it! That’s my maxim; and be it sense or be it nonsense, I won’t have it at second-hand. That’s my idea.”

Acting upon this, Miss Charity insisted that he ought to see Mr. Etherage; and, with a beating heart, he knocked at the study door, and asked an audience.

“Come in,” exclaimed the resonant voice of the Admiral. And Tom Sedley obeyed.

The Admiral extended his hand, and greeted Tom kindly, but gravely.

“Fine day, Mr. Sedley; very fine, sir. It’s an odd thing, Tom Sedley, but there’s more really fine weather up here, at Hazelden, than anywhere else in Wales. More sunshine, and a deal less rain. You’d hardly believe, for you’d fancy on this elevated ground we should naturally have more rain, but it’s less, by several inches, than anywhere else in Wales! And there’s next to no damp — the hygrometer tells that. And a curious thing, you’ll have a southerly wind up here when it’s blowing from the east on the estuary. You can see it, by Jove! Now just look out of that window; did you ever see such sunshine as that? There’s a clearness in the air up here — at the other side, if you go up, you get mist— but there’s something about it here tha............