“That I 'm convinced of,” said Spicer, gravely. “Well, it's a long lane has no turning, Spicer,” said he, oomplacently looking at himself in the glass. “Even a runaway pulls up somewhere; not but I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart for poor Lack, but it will be our own turn one of these days; that's a match there's no paying forfeit on, eh, Spicer? it must come off whether we will or not!” “So it must, my Lord,” sighed out Spicer, sympathetically. “Ay, by Jove! whether a man leaves twelve thousand a year or only two hundred behind him,” sighed out Beecher, who could not help making the application to himself. Again did Spicer sigh, and so profoundly, it might have represented grief for the whole peerage. “I say, old fellow,” said Beecher, clapping him familiarly on the shoulder, “I wish you had n't told Georgy all that stuff about Davis; these things do no good.” “I assure you solemnly, my Lord, I said it with the best motives; her Ladyship would certainly learn the whole history somewhere, and so I thought I 'd just sketch the thing off in a light, easy way.” “Come, come, Spicer,--no gammon, my lad; you never tried any of your light, easy ways with _my_ sister-in-law. At all events, it's done, and can't be undone now,” sighed he, drearily. Then, after a moment, he added, “How did she take the news?” “Well, at first, my Lord, she wouldn't believe it, but went on, 'She's not his wife, sir; I tell you they're not married,' and so on.” “Well,--and then?” “Then, my Lord, I assured her that there could be no doubt of the matter; that your Lordship had done me the honor of presenting me--” “Which I never did, Master Spicer,” laughed in Beecher,--“you know well enough that I never did; but a fib won't choke you, old fellow.” “At all events, I made it clear that you were really married, and to the daughter of a man that would send you home on a shutter if you threw any doubt on it.” “Wouldn't he, by Jupiter!” exclaimed Beecher, with all the sincerity of a great fact “Well, after _that_, how did she take on?” “She did n't say a word, but rocked from side to side, this way,--like one going to faint; and, indeed, her color all went, and she was pale as a corpse; and then she took long breaths, and muttered below her voice, 'This is worst of all!' After that she rallied, and certainly gave it to your Lordship in round style, but always winding it up with, 'Break it he shall, and must, if it was the Archbishop of Canterbury married them.'” “Very fine talking, Master Spicer, but matrimony is a match where you can't scratch and pay forfeits. I wish you could,” muttered he to himself. “I wish you had the presence of mind and the pluck to have told her that it was _my_ affair, and not _hers_. As to the honor of the Lackingtons and all that lot, she is n't a Lackington any more than you are,--she 's a De Tracey; good blood, no better, but she isn't one of us, and you ought to have told her so.”