And this I _did_ feel when Uncle Albert, having tossed off his toast, expressed a wish to know what sort of place the young folks fancied for their honeymoon. “Oh, the Riviera!” was what I rushed into the breach with here. “It would be so glorious to see palms and flowering oleanders, and casinos, and scent all growing wild!—I mean the Parma violets for it—against a brilliant blue sea—such a treat to see a really bright blue bay and golden sunshine in the middle of winter——” “Winter?” put in Uncle Albert quite indignantly. “But my dear, we’re well on into June now; you aren’t going to keep this poor Billy of yours”—with a wave of the hand towards the head of the table—“waiting for his wedding till November or December, _surely_?” “Oh—er—why not?—we thought so.” “We thought—that is, Miss—er—_she_ said,” blurted out the Governor desperately, “that a year’s engagement was——” “Far too long, my boy!” interrupted his uncle peremptorily, “far too long! Don’t you give in to her about that! Why wait, Billy? What the dickens is there to wait _for_? (What’s this—ice? No, thanks.) Why, when I was a fine young fellow of your age, if I’d got a bonnie girl like that to look kindly at me, and enough money to keep her in style, I’d not have rested until I’d clapped a plain gold ring on the top of those diamonds on her finger. Nothing like settling down happily as soon as you’ve got the chance. Like that picture—what is it—oh, you know! Finest picture that ever was painted, I consider—in the Royal Academy years ago—prints of it in every shop-window—what’s the name of the thing?” “‘_My friend Mr. White_’?” suggested the Major. “No, no; _what_ the dickens is it? A really beautiful thing, now, if I could only remember——” “‘_Hope_,’ by G. F. Watts?” put in the Governor’s mother softly. “No!” “‘_Harmony_’?” suggested Blanche. “‘_Simple Aveu_’—no—‘_The Soul’s Awakening_,’ Uncle Albert?” fortissimo from Theo. “No—none o’ those. You all know it, though. I shall think of the name in a minute. Anyhow, I shall give these two young people the best print to be got of it, to hang up in their hall.” And his prominent grey eyes seemed to be staring over my head at some imaginary plan of this entrance! “Only, they must hurry up, mind! No more of this nonsense about their waiting a twelve-month and courting all the love away! Happy’s the wooing that’s not long a-doing: isn’t that right, Major?” “Quite, quite!” Major Montresor got his word in edge-ways at last. “To my sorrow” (old humbug!) “be it spoken! You see, Waters, the longer you play your fish, the more likely he—that is, _she_—is to get away! You’ve got to put on all the strain your tackle will bear at _once_!” “Hear that, Bill?” (The Governor was looking as if _he_ would not be able to stand much more strain of this kind.) “Put it all on at once—excellent advice! And where are you going to have the wedding, Mary? Here, I daresay?” “_I_ had hoped so,” said Mrs. Waters, with her pretty smile at me.