In the house of Rodney there is mourning and . Horror has fallen upon it, and something that touches on disgrace. Lady Rodney, leaning back in her chair with her handkerchief pressed close to her eyes, aloud and refuses to be comforted.  
The is angrily, and breathing with all his might. It is evidently with the belief that the teapot has done it some mortal injury, and is waging on it war to the knife.
 
The teapot, meanwhile, is calmly ignoring its rage, and is turning up its nose at it. It is a very proud old teapot, and is looking straight before it, in a very fashion, at a row of cups and saucers that are up in battle-array and are only waiting for the word of command to march upon the enemy.
 
But this word comes not. In vain does the angry urn . The teapot holds aloft its nose for . The cups and saucers range themselves in military order all for nothing. Lady Rodney is dissolved in tears.
 
"Oh! Nicholas, it can't be true! it really can't!" she says, to the news contained in a letter Sir Nicholas is reading with a puzzled brow.
 
He is a tall young man, about thirty-two, yet looking younger, with a somewhat sallow , large dreamy brown eyes, and very fine black hair. He wears neither moustache nor whiskers, principally for the very good reason that Nature has forgotten to supply them. For which perhaps he should be grateful, as it would have been a cruel thing to hide the excessive beauty of his mouth and chin and perfectly-turned . These are his chief charms, being mild and thoughtful, yet a trifle firm, and in perfect accordance with the upper part of his face. He is hardly handsome, but is certainly attractive.
 
In manner he is somewhat indolent, silent, perhaps lazy. But there is about him a subtle charm that endears him to all who know him. Perhaps it is his horror of offending the feelings of any one, be he great or small, and perhaps it is his knowledge of humanity, and the power he possesses (with most other sensitive people) of being able to read the thoughts of those with whom he comes in contact, that enables him to avoid all such offence. Perhaps it is his honesty, and , and general, if inactive, of .
 
He takes little trouble about anything, certainly none to make himself popular, yet in all the countryside no man is so well beloved as he is. It is true that a word here, or a smile in the right place, does more to make a man a social than substantial deeds of charity out by an unsympathetic hand. This may be unjust; it is certainly beyond dispute the fact.
 
Just now his forehead is drawn up into a deep frown, as he reads the fatal letter that has reduced his mother to a Niobe. Another young man, his brother, Captain Rodney, who is two or three years younger than he, is looking over his shoulder, while a slight, brown-haired, very aristocratic looking girl is endeavoring, in a soft, voice, to convey comfort to Lady Rodney.
 
Breakfast is forgotten; the rolls and the toast and the kidneys are growing cold. Even her own special little square of home-made bread is losing its crispness and falling into a dejected state, which shows almost more than anything else could that Lady Rodney is very far gone indeed.
 
Violet is growing as nearly frightened as good breeding will permit at the , when Sir Nicholas speaks.
 
"It is inconceivable!" he says to nobody in particular. "What on earth does he mean?" He turns the letter round and round between his fingers as though it were a bombshell; though, indeed, he need not at this stage of the have been at all afraid of it, as it has gone off long ago and reduced Lady Rodney to atoms. "I shouldn't have thought Geoffrey was that sort of fellow."
 
"But what is it?" asks Miss Mansergh from behind Lady Rodney's chair, just a little impatiently.
 
"Why, Geoffrey's been and gone and got married," says Rodney, pulling his long fair moustache, and speaking rather awkwardly. It has been several times hinted to him, since his return from India, that, Violet Mansergh being reserved for his brother Geoffrey, any of his attentions in that quarter will be eyed by the family with disfavor. And now to tell her of her quondam lover's defection is not pleasant. Nevertheless he watches her calmly as he speaks.
 
"Is that all?" says Violet, in a tone of surprise certainly, but as certainly in one of relief.
 
"No, it is not all," breaks in Sir Nicholas. "It appears from this," the bombshell, "that he has married a—a—young woman of very inferior birth."
 
"Oh! that is really shocking," says Violet, with a curl of her very short upper lip.
 
"I do hope she isn't the under-housemaid," said Jack, . "It has grown so common. Three fellows this year married under-housemaids, and people are tired of it now; one can't keep up the excitement always. Anything new might create a diversion in his favor, but he's done for if he has married another under-housemaid."
 
"It is worse," says Lady Rodney, in a tone, coming out for a brief instant from behind the handkerchief. "He has married a common farmer's niece!"
 
"Well, you know that's better than a farmer's common niece," says Jack, consolingly.
 
"What does he say about it?" asks Violet, who shows no sign whatever of meaning to wear the for this misguided Benedict, but rather exhibits all a woman's natural curiosity to know exactly what he has said about the interesting event that has taken place.
 
Sir Nicholas again applies himself to the deciphering of the letter. "'He would have written before, but saw no good in making a fuss beforehand,'" he reads slowly.
 
"Well, there's good deal of sense in that," says Jack.
 
"'Quite the loveliest girl in the world,' with a heavy stroke under the 'quite.' That's always so, you know: nothing new or striking about that." Sir Nicholas all through is speaking in a tone uniformly and disgusted.
 
"It is a point in her favor nevertheless," says Jack, who is again looking over his shoulder at the letter.
 
"'She is charming at all points,'" goes on Sir Nicholas screwing his glass into his eye, "'with a mind as sweet as her face.' Oh, it is absurd!" says Sir Nicholas, impatiently. "He is evidently in the last stage of imbecility. Hopelessly bewitched."
 
"And a very good thing, too," puts in Jack, tolerantly: "it won't last, you know, so he may as well have it strong while he is about it."
 
"What do you know about it?" says Sir Nicholas, turning the tables in the most unexpected fashion upon his brother, and looking decidedly , for no rea............