long made his proposals. He was the very man to whom two or three
centuries ago Mr. Charnock would have betrothed the heiress in her
infancy; and Cecil had never liked any one so well, feeling that her
destiny came to a proper culmination in bestowing her hand on the
most eligible Charnock, an M.P., and just a step above her father in
rank and influence.

Her step-mother was under orders to spend the winter in Italy and
the wedding had therefore taken place in Venice, so that Cecil might
finish her journey as a wife. She had been very happy and fully
occupied; Raymond, being younger and stronger than her parents, was
more competent to escort her to every height or depth to which she
wished to go, hunted up information for her, and was her most
obedient servant, only resisting any prolongation of the journey
beyond the legitimate four weeks; nor indeed had Cecil been desirous
of deferring her introduction to her new sphere.

There she stood, her hair and pretty Parisian winter dress arranged
to perfection, contemplating with approval the sitting-room that had
been appropriated to her, the October sunshine lighting up the many-
tinted trees around the smooth-shaven dewy lawn, and a bright fire
on the hearth, shelves and chiffoniers awaiting her property, and
piles of parcels, suggestive of wedding presents, awaiting her hand.
She was standing at the table, turning out her travelling-bag with
the comfortable sensation that it was not to be immediately re-
packed, and had just disinterred a whole library of note-books, when
her husband opened the door. "I believe Jenkins is waiting for your
appearance to bring in the urn, my dear."

"I'm coming; but surely there ought to be a bell or gong to assemble