An et cetera now spoke to the honeymoon bride from the up-country: “I heard Doctor Beaugarcon say he was coming to visit you this evening.” “Yais,” assented the bride. “Doctor Beaugarcon is my mother’s fourth cousin.” Juno now took--most unwisely, as it proved--a vindictive turn at me. “I knew that your friend, Mr. Mayrant, was intemperate,” she began. I don’t think that Mrs. Trevise had any intention to ring for Daphne at this point--her curiosity was too lively; but Juno was going to risk no such intervention, and I saw her lay a precautionary hand heavily down over the bell. “But,” she continued, “I did not know that Mr. Mayrant was a gambler.” “Have you ever seen him intemperate?” I asked. “That would be quite needless,” Juno returned. “And of the gambling I have ocular proof, since I found him, cards, counters, and money, with my sick nephew. He had actually brought cards in his pocket.” “I suppose,” said the Briton, “your nephew was too sick to resist him.” The male honeymooner, with two of the et ceteras, made such unsteady demonstrations at this that Mrs. Trevise protracted our sitting no longer. She rose, and this meant rising for us all. A sense of regret and incompleteness filled me, and finding the Briton at my elbow as our company proceeded toward the sitting room, I said: “Too bad!” His whisper was confident. “We’ll get the rest of it out of her yet.” But the rest of it came without our connivance. In the sitting room Doctor Beaugarcon sat waiting, and at sight of Juno entering the door (she headed our irregular procession) he sprang up and lifted admiring hands. “Oh, why didn’t I have an aunt like you!” he exclaimed, and to Mrs. Trevise as she followed: “She pays her nephew’s poker debts.” “How much, cousin Tom?” asked the upcountry bride. And the gay old doctor chuckled, as he kissed her: “Thirty dollars this afternoon, my darling.” At this the Briton dragged me behind a door in the hall, and there we danced together. “That Mayrant chap will do,” he declared; and we composed ourselves for a proper entrance into the sitting room, where the introductions had been made, and where Doctor Beaugarcon and Mrs. Braintree’s husband had already fallen into war reminiscences, and were discovering with mutual amiability that they had fought against each other in a number of battles. “And you generally licked us,” smiled the Union soldier. “Ah! don’t I know myself how it feels to run!” laughed the Confederate. “Are you down at the club?” But upon learning from the poetess that her ode was now to be read aloud, Doctor Beaugarcon paid his fourth cousin’s daughter a brief, though affectionate, visit, lamenting that a very ill patient should compel him to take himself away so immediately, but promising her presently in his stead two visitors much more interesting. “Miss Josephine St. Michael desires to call upon you,” he said, “and I fancy that her nephew will escort her.” “In all this rain?” said the bride.