“How you two feminines must have suffered--one from hopeless love--and the other from helpless sympathy. But it is all over now, and the probity of two, presumably, gallant officers is vindicated, while the paying teller of father's bank is behind the bars with a certain prospect of years of manual labour for bed and board. Why will men be so foolish? Easily answered. The love of gold, not made in an honest way, but by speculating with other folks' money. Mr. Barr, the aforesaid teller, is a nice young fellow with a wife and two children, but his life is wrecked. Of course she will get a divorce and try to find a better man. We are all well, including Mr. Merry. He intended to take the place in father's office that Quincy spoke about, but Harry--there, I've written it, so will let it go--had a better position offered him by Mr. Curtis Carter, one of Quincy's old friends, and he's doing splendidly Mr. Carter told me. “I am heartbroken about Quincy. I trust Alice's hopes may be realized and most of the time I share them. “How's that nephew of mine? Send him over and we'll bring him up a Yankee boy. He's no Englishman. “We are all well, and everybody sends love to everybody. MAUDE. “P. S. Father didn't lose anything on the check. The bank paid the money back to him.” * * * * * * * Aunt Ella kept her promise to the Captain and the part of Maude's letter which concerned the check was read to him. He improved his opportunity by asking Florence to be his wife. “My father was greatly pleased with you and will welcome you as a daughter.” “Whether my father will welcome you as a son is the question,” said Florence. “My father is a very wealthy man. I know the conventionalities and requirements of English life, and although my love for you is not dependent upon your having or not having a fortune, I cannot become a burden to you, or dependent upon your family, as I might become if my father refused his consent.” “You American girls are intensely practical.” “Are not Englishmen equally so when they pay court to American heiresses? I don't mean you, of course.” “My father and brothers will allow me twenty-five hundred pounds a year, about twelve thousand dollars of your money.” “Could we live, as we have both lived, on that income, Reginald?” “To be honest, Florence, I don't think we could have a town house, a place in the country, and entertain much.” “Certainly not, Reginald. If my father gives his consent, I will be your wife whenever you say. If he refuses, we must wait.” The next mail brought a short letter for Florence from her sister. “DEAR FLO:--I didn't want to put what I'm going to write now in my other letter. I suppose Reggie will propose now. Don't you accept him until Father is told. You love money and style, and the first enables you to indulge in the second.