Colonel Doran was not kept in the dark respecting Miss Barker’s fine connections and amiable relations. He dined at Grosvenor Street; he had a seat in their box at the theatre. Indeed, Julia’s family received him with open arms, as if he were a long-expected friend; being, indeed, an eagerly-looked-for, and well approved suitor. Julia’s interest in sport was unquenchable; secretly she borrowed and read up books on Indian shikar, and was always radiantly pleased to see him--handsome, well dressed, and agreeable. In three weeks’ time, Colonel Doran had spoken the fatal words. Sitting over the fire in the little drawing-room one dull afternoon Miss Julia described in pitiful tones her own sad and solitary life. Fanny had her family, who engrossed her. “And I,” she added in a broken voice, “am really _alone_ in the world. I shall be a forlorn old maid; no one cares for me.” And, emboldened by this splendid opening, Colonel Doran figuratively rushed upon his fate. * * * * * * * It was decided that the engagement was to be brief, as the lady frankly declared-- “We are neither of us young; there is nothing to wait for; and the wedding can take place before Fanny leaves town. She won’t be back again till February.” To this arrangement the happy bridegroom readily agreed. When money matters came to be discussed, Colonel Doran’s large estate dwindled down to £1,200 a year. This discovery proved a shock. It appeared that most of his surplus income had been lavished on his regiment; still, his pension was considerable, and living was cheap in Ireland. Fanny generously paid her sister’s debts and presented the trousseau. The bride-elect talked continually of Kilmoran Castle, and distributed pressing invitations--among friends unlikely to accept. There was a brilliant wedding, and showers of presents descended on old Ju Barker, who had made an unexpectedly good match. After the ceremony the happy pair left, amid a buzz of congratulations and a shower of rice and slippers, for Colonel Doran’s Irish seat. Although he had repeatedly attempted to discount her expectations, Julia had turned a resolutely deaf ear to her fiancé. “It is really nothing of a place,” he protested; “the old family house was burnt down eighty years ago. My ancestors gambled, and raced through most of the property; and though once we owned miles of country, we have only about two thousand acres of land--some of it is bog--and I am the last twig on our family tree. The castle is merely a house tacked on to an ancient keep; there are no grounds or conservatories--it is just a gloomy old barrack. But you will brighten it. I’ve had some of the rooms papered, and sent over a little modern furniture.” “But your father and mother lived in it, as it was,” she argued, in a querulous key. “Yes, and my grandfather too. I remember him when Nora and I were small children.” “By the way, who is, or was, Nora?”