“Poor sister Susan!” cried Gussy, the tears disappearing, the sunshine bursting out over all her face; “she will not like me to go back into the world.” “Nor to go out to Italy as a Consul,” said Edgar, gay as a boy in his new happiness, “to talk to all the ships’ captains, and find out about the harbour dues.” “Foolish! there are no ship captains, nor ships either, nor dues of any kind--” “Nothing but the bay and the hills, and the sunsets and the moonrises; the Riviera, which means Paradise--” “And to be together--” “Which has the same meaning,” he said. And then they stopped in this admirable fooling, and laughed the foolish laughter of mere happiness, which is not such a bad thing, when one can have it, once in a way. “What a useless, idle, Sybarite life you have sketched out for us!” Gussy said at last. “I hope it is not a mere sunshiny sinecure. I hope there is something to do.” “I am very good at doing nothing,” Edgar replied--too glad, at last, to return to homely reality and matter of fact; and until the others came home, these two talked as much nonsense as it is given to the best of us to talk; and got such good of it as no words can describe. When Lady Augusta returned, she pretended to frown upon Edgar, and smiled; and then gave him her hand, and then inclined her cheek towards him. They had the paper out again, and she shook her head; then kissed Gussy, and told them that Spezzia was the most lovely place in all the world. Edgar stayed to dinner, as at last a recognised belonging of the household, and met Lord Granton, who was somewhat frightened of him, and respectful, having heard his praises celebrated by Mary as something more than flesh and blood; and for that evening “the Grantons” that were to be, were nobodies--not even redeemed from insignificance by the fact that their marriage was approaching, while the other marriage was still in the clouds. “How nice it would be if they could be on the same day!” little Mary whispered, rather, I fear, with the thought of recovering something of her natural consequence as bride than for any other reason. “As if the august ceremonial used at an Earl’s wedding would do for a Consul’s!” cried saucy Gussy, tossing her curls as of old. And notwithstanding Edgar’s memories, and the dark shadow of Clare’s troubles that stood by his side, and the fear that now and then overwhelmed them all about Harry’s movements--in spite of all this, I do not think a merrier evening was ever spent in Berkeley Square. Gussy had been in a cloud, in a veil, for all these years; she had not thought it right to laugh much, as the Associate of a Sisterhood--which is to say that Gussy was not happy enough to want to laugh, and founded that grey, or brown, or black restriction for herself, with the ingenuity of an unscrupulous young woman. But now sweet laughter had become again as natural to her as breath. CHAPTER XXIII. H.B.M.’s Consul.--Conclusion.