"Ah, he's a queer fellow, is doctor," said Warton. "They won't live down here when they're married, will they?" "Who?" "Young Cyril Mallow and Joseph Portlock's girl." "Oh, dear me, no," said Tomlinson. "Young Cyril has got a post under government, and it's settled that Miss Cynthia is to be married to Lord Artingale, and a house has been taken for young Cyril up in Kensington." "Hullo, old fox," cried Fullerton. "Yoicks, yoicks, yoicks, gone away," shouted several, uproariously. "Come, out with it," said Fullerton. "I'll be bound to say you know all about it." "Well," said Tomlinson, with the calm reticence of one who felt himself quite at home in the matter, "I did hear a little about it." "From Joseph Portlock's wife, I'll be bound," said Fullerton. "She's been at your place three times lately." "I'm not going to mention any names," said Tomlinson, with a sly, smooth, fat smile, "but I think I may venture to say that there'll be a wedding somewhere within six months, and that those who are married will live in Kensington." "Ay, parson knows how to play his cards," said Warton. "I suppose the eldest girl will marry that stout gentleman, Perry-Morton. Parson manages things well. Fancy bagging Lord Artingale for a son-in-law. Why, all Gatley belongs to him, and he's an uncommonly nice fellow too." "Yes, his lordship's all very well; but as to young Cyril and Miss Portlock, mark my words, no good'll come of it," said Fullerton, emphatically. "Mark my words: no good'll come of it." "I should be sorry if it did not turn out well, and so would my son be, I'm sure," said the old tanner. "Why?" said Fullerton. "Because Sage Portlock is a nice, superior sort of girl," said the old man, "and it is always grievous to see those you like come in for trouble." "So it is," said Fullerton, "but trouble will come. Here's two clergyman's sons, who ought to be the very model of what young men should be, and has any one of you a good word to say for them?" "Well, for my part," said Smithson, "a man as can't wear a honestly well-cut pair of trousers, made by a respectable tradesman, but must send to London for everything, can't have much balance in his nature." "Quite right," said Warton. "Why, when old Mallow set up the carriage, young Cyril--no, it was Frank--must go up to London to buy the harness, and it had to come to me for repairs in less than a month." "Well, for my part," said Tomlinson, "I wish Sage Portlock health and happiness, and no disrespect to you, Master Ross, for every girl has a right to choose her own master for life." "I wish her health and happiness, too," said Fullerton, rising, "and I wish she may get them. Good night, gentlemen; I'm for home." "Yes, it's time for home," said old Michael Ross, rising, and saying good night; and the two neighbours walked down the street together. "Married, eh?" said Fullerton, with a sneer. "Well, just as they like; but mark my words, Michael Ross, it means trouble."