“Next Tuesday,” said Mrs. Tipping to her stepdaughter, as they sat in the much decorated drawing-room one afternoon, “you’ll be Mrs. Robinson.” Miss Tipping, who was sitting next to the skipper, looked at him languishingly, and put her head on his shoulder. “I can hardly believe it,” she said, coyly. Flower, who was in the same predicament, patted her head tenderly, as being easier than replying. “And I must say,” said Mrs. Tipping, regarding the pair, “I’m a plain woman, and I speak my mind, that if it was me, I should want to know more about him first.” “I’m quite satisfied, mar,” said Miss Tipping, without raising her head. “There’s your relations to be satisfied, Matilda,” said Uncle Porson, in an important voice. Miss Tipping raised her head and favoured the interrupter with a baleful stare, whereupon Mr. Porson, scratching his neck feebly, glanced at Mrs. Tipping for support. “Our relations needn’t come to see us,” said his niece, at length. “He’s marrying me, not my relations.” “He’s making me his uncle, at any rate,” said Mr. Porson, with a sudden access of dignity. “You don’t mind, Fred, do you?” asked Miss Tipping, anxiously. “I’d put up with more than that for your sake,” said Flower. “I needn’t tell people.” “That’s all very fine,” said Mrs. Tipping, taking up the cudgels for the speechless and glaring victim of these pleasantries, “but there’s no mystery about your uncle; everybody knows _him_. _He_ doesn’t disappear just as he is going to get married, and be brought back in a cab months afterwards. _He_ isn’t full of secrets he mustn’t tell people who ought to know.” “Never kep’ a secret in my life,” agreed Uncle Porson, whose head was buzzing under this unaccustomed praise. “I know quite eno’ugh about Fred,” said Miss Tipping, tenderly; “when I want your opinion, mar, I’ll ask you for it.” Mrs. Tipping’s reply was interrupted by the entrance of a young man from the jeweller’s with four brooches for Flower to present to the bridesmaids. Mrs. Tipping had chosen them, and it did not take the hapless skipper long to arrive at the conclusion that she was far fonder of bridesmaids than he was. His stock of money was beginning to dwindle, and the purchase of a second wedding suit within a month was beginning to tell even upon his soaring spirits. “There’s another thing about Fred I don’t quite like,” said Mrs. Tipping, as she sat with the brooches ranged upon her capacious lap; “he’s extravagant. I don’t like a mean man, but one who flings his money away is almost as bad. These ’ere brooches are very pretty, and they do him credit, but I can’t say but what something cheaper wouldn’t ’ave done as well.” “I thought you liked them,” said the indignant Flower. “I like them well enough,” said Mrs. Tipping, solemnly; “there’s nothing to dislike in them. Seems to me they must have cost a lot of money, that’s all—I suppose I may make a remark!”