"O, here you are at last!" said Miss Til, who, as they both noticed, had a very high colour and was generally suffused about the face and neck; "what have you been conspiring about? The Mater looks as guilty as possible, doesn't she, Geoff? and you're not much better, sir. What is the matter?" "I suspect you're simply attempting the authoritative to cover your own confusion, Til. There's something--" "No, no! I won't be put off in that manner! What _is_ the matter?" "There's nothing the matter, my dear," said Mrs. Ludlow, who by this time had recovered her composure; "though there is some great news. Geoffrey's going to be married!" "What!" exclaimed Miss Til, and then made one spring into his arms. "O, you darling old Geoff, you don't say so? O, how quiet you have kept it, you horrible hypocrite, seeing us day after day and never breathing a word about it! Now, who is it, at once? Stop, shall I guess? Is it any one I know?" "No one that you know." "O, I am so glad! Do you know, I think I hate most people I know--girls, I mean; and I'm sure none of them are nice enough for my Geoff. Now, what's she like, Geoff?" "O, I don't know." "That's what men always say--so tiresome! Is she dark or fair?" "Well, fair, I suppose." "And what coloured hair and eyes?" "Eh? well, her hair is red, I think." "Red! Lor, Geoff! what they call carrots?" "No; deep-red, like red gold--" "O, Geoff, I know, I know! Like the Scylla in the picture. O, you worse than fox, to deceive me in that way, telling me it was a model, and all the rest of it. Well, if she's like that, she must be wonderful to look at, and I'm dying to see her. What's her name?" "Margaret." "Margaret! That's very nice; I like Margaret very much. Of course you'll never let yourself be sufficiently childishly spoony to let it drop into Peggy, which is atrocious. I'm very glad she's got a nice name; for, do all I could, I'm certain I never could like a sister-in-law who was called Belinda or Keziah, or any thing dreadful." "Have you fixed your wedding-day, Geoffrey?" "Yes, mother; for Thursday next." "Thursday!" exclaimed Miss Til. "Thursday next? why there'll be no time for me to get anything ready; for I suppose, as your sister, Geoff, I'm to be one of the bridesmaids?" "There will be no bridesmaids, dear Til," said Geoffrey; "no company, no breakfast. I have always thought that, if ever I married, I should like to walk into the church with my bride, have the service gone through, and walk out again, without the least attempt at show; and I'm glad to find that Margaret thoroughly coincides with me." "But surely, Geoffrey," said Mrs. Ludlow, "your friends will--" "O my! Talking of friends," interrupted Miss Til, "I quite forgot in all this flurry to tell you that Mr. Charles Potts is in the drawing-room, waiting to see you, Geoffrey." "Dear me! is he indeed? ah, that accounts for a flushed face--" "Don't be absurd, Geoff! Shall I tell him to come here?"