"Miss Lexden has heard of it, sir," said Churchill, smiling; "and I'm afraid she did not receive the news very auspiciously; but we shall endeavour to gain her consent, and if we fail--well, we must do without it. And now I won't keep you from your paper any longer. I thought it my duty to tell you, and having done so, I'll say good night." "One minute, Frank Churchill; wait one minute. I'm a queer, useless old fellow--an old brute, I often think, for I'm not unconscious of the strange life I lead, and the odd--but, however, that's neither here nor there. Your father and I were boon companions--a wild, harum-scarum chap he was--and _such_ company--and I've a regard for you, which is strengthened by your conduct to-night. My old cousin, Miss Lexden--well, she's an old lady, you know, and she meant Barbara for a marquis, at least; and then old women hate to be disappointed, you know, and she'll be savage, I've no doubt. But when you're once married, she won't be difficult to deal with, and so far as I can help you, I will. And now, God bless you, and good night; and--give Barbara a kiss for me in the morning." About the same time, another conversation on the same great topic was going on under the same roof. Barbara had scarcely been five minutes in her room, and had been leaning thoughtfully, with her arms upon the window-sill, gazing out into the moonlit park, and utterly oblivious of Parker, who was preparing the instrument of torture for her mistress's hair, when Withers arrived with a message that Miss Lexden wished to speak to her niece. Obedient to the summons, Barbara crossed the landing, and found the old lady, resplendent in a dark-blue cashmere dressing-gown, seated before her fire. Withers dismissed _pro tem._, Miss Lexden said: "I'll not detain you long, Barbara. I merely wished to know whether what you said this evening about your intended marriage with Mr. Churchill was jest or earnest." "Thorough earnest," replied Barbara, regarding her stedfastly. "As to marriage, I mean?" asked the old lady; "not as to a temporary flirtation, which, _faute de mieux_, with a pleasant man in a dull country house, is well enough, and not likely to tell against one's interests. But as to marriage?" "What I said before, aunt," said Barbara slowly, never dropping her eyes, "I repeat. Mr. Churchill has done me the honour to ask me to become his wife. I have consented, and I mean to keep my word."