One day towards the end of the week, Mr Jones did succeed in catching his young friend, and, moreover, in smoking the whole of a long cigar in his society. ‘Look here, Abbot,’ he said, ‘what’s up with you? Are you going to be married?’ ‘Yes,’ said Frank; ‘I am.’ ‘Thought so,’ said Mr Jones. ‘When?’ ‘Next Tuesday,’ answered Frank as laconically as his strange friend. ‘Girl got money?’ ‘No; poorer than I am.’ ‘That’s bad. Tell me all about it.’ Every man in Frank’s plight likes a friend to unburden his heart to; so Mr Jones had the whole history of his love affair, from the moment his mother intervened down to the present happy time. Frank waxed so eloquent, that his friend’s eyes glistened, and when the history was finished, he grasped the young man’s hand, and wished him good wishes which were certainly heartfelt. ‘I have a favour to ask,’ he said, in a very humble way, quite different from his usual energetic style of talking. ‘I haven’t known you long, so it’s presumption on my part. But I’ve grown very fond of you. May I come to the church and see you married?’ ‘You may be best-man, if you like; or you can give the bride away. It will save us having recourse to the sexton.—Only on one condition, though,’ continued Frank, struck by a sudden thought; ‘that is, you don’t go making absurd presents.’ ‘I must give you something.’ ‘Give me a box of cigars, then.’ ‘Very well,’ said Mr Jones. ‘But you’re disgustingly proud.’ So it was settled. To Frank’s great relief—for he disliked paining the man by refusing anything—Mr Jones brought him a box of his big cigars, and on the Tuesday morning accompanied him to the quiet town church, where in due time Millicent appeared, accompanied by her distant relative. Mr John Jones acted in his twofold capacity with great decorum. Frank had laughingly told Millicent of the strange arrangement he had made. She raised no objection. ‘What does it matter,’ she said, ‘so long as we are really married?’ So, when the clergyman asked who gave this woman, &c., Mr Jones stepped forward and performed the office. When the ceremony was over, and the happy pair stepping into the carriage, thinking, no doubt, his services entitled him to some reward, he kissed the bride on her forehead—a proceeding which rather staggered Frank, although, as Millicent did not seem annoyed, he said nothing. ‘That old Jones is a strange fellow,’ he said, as Millicent and he were safely ensconced in the brougham. ‘Yes. How long have you known him?’ ‘Only a week or two—quite a chance acquaintance.’ ‘Chance acquaintances are not to be depended upon,’ said Mrs Frank Abbot sententiously. Then, as was but natural, they talked of other things, and dismissed Mr John Jones from their happy minds.