"How true that is! yet somehow, I always want to talk," says Mrs. Branscombe,--at which they both laugh. "Come home," says Dorian: "it grows cold as charity, and I'm getting desperately hungry besides. Are you?" "I'm starving," says Georgie, genially. "There, now; they say people never want to eat anything when they are in love and when they are filled with joy. And I haven't been hungry for weeks, until this very moment." "Just shows what awful stuff some fellows will talk," says Mr. Branscombe, with an air of very superior contempt. After which they go on their homeward journey until they reach the shrubbery. Here voices, coming to them from a side-path, attract their notice. "That is Clarissa," says Georgie: "I suppose she has come out to find me. Let us wait for her here." "And Scrope is with her. I wish she would make up her mind to marry him," says Branscombe. "I am certain they are devoted to each other, only they can't see it. Want of brain, I suppose." "They certainly are exceedingly foolish, both of them," says Georgie, emphatically. The voices are drawing nearer; as their owners approach the corner that separates them from the Branscombes, Clarissa says, in a clear, audible tone,-- "I never in all my life knew two such silly people!" "Good gracious!" says Branscombe, going up to her. "What people?" "You two!" says Clarissa, telling the truth out of sheer fright. "You will be so kind as to explain yourself, Clarissa," says Dorian, with dignity. "Georgie and I have long ago made up our minds that Solon when compared with us was a very poor creature indeed." "A perfect fool!" says Mrs. Branscombe, with conviction. The brightness of their tone, their whole manner, tell Clarissa that some good and wonderful change has taken place. "Then why is Dorian going abroad, instead of staying at home like other people?" she says, uncertainly, feeling still puzzled. "He isn't going anywhere: I have forbidden him!" says Mrs. Branscombe, with saucy shyness. "Oh, Jim, they have made it up!" says Miss Peyton, making this vulgar remark with so much joy and feeling in her voice as robs it of all its commonplaceness. She turns to Scrope as she says this, her eyes large with delight. "We have," says Georgie, sweetly. "Haven't we Dorian?" And then again slipping her hand into his, "He is going to stay at home always for the future: aren't you, Dorian?" "I am going to stay just wherever you are for the rest of my life," says Dorian; and then Clarissa and James know that everything has come all right. "Then you will be at home for our wedding," says Scrope, taking Clarissa's hand and turning to Branscombe. Clarissa blushes very much, and Georgie, going up to her, kisses her heartily. "It is altogether quite too nice," says Mrs. Branscombe, with tears in her eyes. "If you don't look out, Scrope, she will kiss you too," says Dorian. "Look here, it is nearly six o'clock, and dinner will be at seven. Come back, you two, and dine with us."