"I am very happy," he replied. "Let me anticipate your questions, and give you some information about her. The young lady is poor and an orphan. Her name was Lydia Wilson. She was without family, without friends, and without money. I made her acquaintance accidentally a few months ago in the course of business, and was attracted to her. She was in a dependent and cruel position, and I made her an offer of marriage which she accepted. There is no need for us to go into further particulars. I thought much of you, and your manner of receiving the news of this unexpected step has delighted me. All that remains for you to do is to make the acquaintance of a lady who I feel is too young to be my wife, but who has done me infinite honour by assuming my name--who is too young to be a second mother to you, but whom you will find a charming and true friend. Numbers of persons will say that it is an imprudent step for a man of my age to marry a mere child; I must confess it is likely I should pass that judgment upon another man in my position; but I was unable to resist her, and I am happy in the assurance that, despite the disparity in our ages, she loves me. You will find in her, Frederick, a singular mixture of simplicity, shrewdness, and innocence. And now, my dear boy, we will go home to her; she is anxiously awaiting us." My father's wife was not visible when we reached home, and my father told me she was dressing, and would not come down till dinner was on the table. "I did not know," he said, "that friends were to dine with us to-night. I should have liked the three of us to spend the evening together, but there will be plenty of opportunities." We both retired to dress for dinner, and upon my re-entering the room the guests were arriving--fifteen or sixteen of them. They were all strangers to me, and as I was introduced to them by my father an uncomfortable impression forced itself upon me that they were not persons who moved in the first class. There were two foreign noblemen among them whose titles I doubted, and an American upon whose shirt-front was stamped Shoddy. Scarcely a moment before dinner was announced, my father's wife entered. "Frederick," said my father, "this is my wife. My dear, this is my son, of whom I have spoken so much." Then dinner was announced, and my father said: "Frederick, you will take in Mrs. Holdfast." What with the ceremonious bow with which my father's wife received me, and the bustle occasioned by the announcement of dinner, I had not time to look into the lady's face until her hand was on my arm. When I did look at her I uttered a smothered cry, for the woman I was escorting to dinner was no other than Grace, through whose abominable treachery my friend Sydney Campbell had met his death.