All of which was carried out according to schedule, with one important exception. When George Augustus unexpectedly walked into the multitudinous and tumultuous Saturday dinner of the Hartly family—loin of fresh pork, greens, potatoes, apple sauce, fruit-suet pudding, but no beer this time—he found no patient Grissel awaiting him. And his very impatient and aggrieved Grissel was backed up by an equally aggrieved family, who by now had wormed out of her by no means reticent mind something of the truth. The Hartlys were simply furious with George Augustus for not being “rich.” The way he had come it over them! The way he had mashed Isabel with his 1/6 a pound chocolates! The way dear Mamma had put on her airs of righteous disapproval at Captain Hartly’s little jokes about a fellah in India (Ha! Ha!) and a couple of native women (He! He!)! The intolerable way in which dear Papa had come it about ’64 Port and Paris and the Plains of Waterloo! And after the Hartlys had endured all those humiliations to find that George Augustus was not “rich,” after all! O horrible, most horrible! So when George Augustus, still half-armed with the bolts of thunder-compelling dear Mamma, walked in dramatically to that agape of roast pig, he found he had a tougher job to deal with than he had imagined. He was greeted with very constrained and not very polite reticence by the elder Hartlys, and gazed at by such an inordinate number of round-O-eyed youthful Hartlys that he felt all the reproachful juvenile eyes in the world must be directed upon him, as he struggled with an (intentionally) tough and disagreeable portion of the meal. * * * * * Need it be said? George Augustus was defeated by Isabel and the Hartlys, as he would have been defeated by any one with half an ounce of spunk and half a dram of real character. He capitulated. Without the honours of war. He apologized to Isabel. And to Ma Hartly. And to “the Captain.” An Armistice was arranged, the terms of which were: George Augustus surrendered unconditionally, and all the honours of war went to Isabel. Isabel was not to return to dear Mamma or to Sheffield, not ever again. They were to take a cottage in rural Kent, not far from the Hartlys. George Augustus was to return to Sheffield and bring to rural Kent his precious æsthetes and as much furniture as he could cadge. He was to sell his “practice” in Sheffield, and to start to “practise” in rural Kent. As a concession to George Augustus, he was to be allowed to WRITE—for a time. But if the Writing proved unremunerative within a reasonable period—such period to be determined by Isabel and the Other High Contracting Powers—he was to “practise” with more assiduity—and profit. Failing which, George Augustus would hear about it, and Isabel would apply for a maintenance order for herself and child. Signed, sealed and delivered over a quart bottle of East Kent Pale Ale.