“Here is the answer, Katie, sealed with the family crest in due form,” and he tore the paper so as not to destroy the seal, with the intention of showing the crest to her. “By Jove!” he exclaimed, angrily, “this is too bad, Katie; he has sent back my letter unopened, without a word.” Katie's face flushed up, and she was about to burst out indignantly, but seeing by her husband's face that he was grieved as well as angry, she only said,— “Never mind, Frank, it is no use our worrying ourselves about it; you can do nothing more after this refusal to hear you. We have a good conscience, dear, and can afford to wait. As you said at first, Frank, there can be no doubt that your uncle has worried himself so much about the upset of his plans for you to marry that Miss Heathcote, that he has really gone a little out of his mind about it. Perhaps it is a pity you did not do as he wanted you to,” and she looked up maliciously at Frank. The attack had the effect she desired, and in administering what he called punishment Frank soon forgot the annoyance of the letter. It was not, indeed, until they rose to go upstairs to tea, that the subject was renewed; then Frank put the letter into its envelope, opened his desk, and threw it in. “There,” he said, “we won't talk about it any more, Katie. It is a great annoyance, but it can't be helped. It is no use crying over spilt milk.” The next day Katie sat up in state, and many of Frank's acquaintances or friends called, and also friends of the Drakes. Frank, of course, stayed at home to help his wife through the ordeal. Among the callers was Fred Bingham. After the first introduction and greetings were over, Frank said to him aside,— “Look here, Fred, I want to have a talk with you about a most unpleasant business, which I can't for the life of me understand. I can't talk now before all these people. Come, like a good fellow, to dinner this evening. We shall be alone, and then I can tell you all about it.” “Very well, Frank, I will come.” Fred then turned to Katie, and was very chatty and amusing, as he could be when he chose. He stayed some little time, and helped Frank much in smoothing away the stiffness, and in filling up the occasional pauses which are incidental to ceremonies of this kind. He came again to dinner, and was still in high spirits, paying Katie many hyperbolical compliments, which she laughed at, telling him that he was not an Irishman, and that no one but Irishmen had a right to talk outrageous nonsense. Soon after the dessert was placed upon the table, Frank said to his wife,— “There, Katie, I want to talk to Fred, so go upstairs like a good girl, and make tea for us.” Then, when he was with his cousin, he went on, “Now, Fred, I want to talk to you. I have had a most extraordinary letter from my uncle, accusing me of unheard-of wickedness, and breaking-off all acquaintance and connection with me. There it is, read it through, and tell me what it means.”