'Mamma! papa! do you know I am going to marry Minette, I told her so; her name is Victoria, after the Queen, she said. I shall go to see her to-morrow; she is bigger than Minnie, and looked prettier in her veil. Didn't Dot look funny in a veil? Dot nearly cried, but Aunt Freda gave her some cake. Why did Mr Prothero come, papa? isn't he a farmer?' 'And isn't your papa a farmer? and am not I a farmer, Master Harold?' exclaims Sir Hugh, catching the boy up in his arms. 'I am so sorry Aunt Freda is going away,' says quiet little Minnie to her mother. 'And tho am I, my dear.' 'And tho am I, mamma,' lisps Dot, exactly as lisps her mamma. 'I hope she will be happy,' says Mr Gwynne, aside to the colonel; 'do you think she will?' 'Yes, I am sure she will; she is evidently sincerely attached to Rowland Prothero, and he to her. He is a good man and a gentleman, one cannot deny that. Pshaw! why am I so sorry she is gone? we shall miss her dreadfully after this twelvemonth.' 'Thank you, Gwynne; she has been very good and kind to us all; so much improved, and she told me she owed it all to Rowland. Well, I liked him from the first. You saw the Bible his school children gave him, and the presents from his parishioners and the letter from the bishop, so complimentary, you know, so flattering, and all that sort of thing. God bless them,' Mr Gwynne very nearly begins to cry, and Colonel Vaughan feels inclined to join; but by way of consoling himself, says,-- 'I shall go and see the Protheros sometimes now. I never saw anything in my life so lovely as that younger Mrs Prothero.' 'Take care, my dear,' cries Lady Mary to her daughter; 'the colonel is going to visit the fair Gladys.' 'Oh! I thant allow that, Gwynne, the ith much too pretty.' 'Let us go out and look at the people before dinner,' says Colonel Vaughan; 'I must say it was cruel of Freda to refuse to have a party. This is fearfully dull; the vicar and his wife, or Mr and Mrs Jones would have been better than nobody.' 'Much obliged!' says Sir Hugh. As all the party go into the Park, we will follow them, and leaving them there, retrace our steps to the farm. There is high tea going on in the parlour, and a pleasant, cheerful party they are, assembled round the tea-table. Gladys in the wedding-gown, with a colour on her cheeks and a light in her eyes that were not there in former days, presides. Owen divides his attentions between her and some object in the corner of the room; first jumping up to peep into this curtained curiosity, and then returning to put cream into the tea-cups, hand the cakes and bread and butter, or do any and everything that his loving and lovely Gladys asks him, with whom he is just as much in love as ever.