During these days the mystery of Miss Vyse’s altered manner, and continued succession of gorgeous “gets-up” was to some extent explained. She had really succeeded in attaching another string, and that other by no means a despicable one, to her bow! The first day of his return they dined, as usual, alone. Florence complained of being tired, and left the drawing-room early. The following morning Lady Severn informed her son that dinner was to be half-an-hour later, that day, as she expected a guest. “A gentleman,” she added, as if she wished Ralph to enquire further. But he was too profoundly indifferent to do so; and forgot all about the matter till just before dinner-time, when, to his amazement, on entering the drawing-room, he descried, seated side by side, on a sofa, in very suspicious proximity, Florence the magnificent, and our old friend the substantial and inconsolable widower, Mr. Chepstow! “So he is the poor devil I was pitying in anticipation,” thought Ralph, “On the whole I think the sentiment is uncalled-for. His back is broad enough, and his susceptibilities not too acute. Besides which, he is the kind of man that must be ruled, and perhaps when he is incorporated as a part of her precious self, Florence may not treat him badly. She will have no more need for plotting and planning on pecuniary grounds, anyhow.” Mr. Chepstow was all beaming with the effulgence of prosperity and good-humour, delighted to see Sir Ralph again, hoped he had enjoyed his visit to England, etc., etc. Ralph felt rather at a loss how to demean himself. The thing was so very palpable, he wondered if he was expected to congratulate the happy pair forthwith. But as there had been no announcement made to him, he decided that it was better to be on the safe side, and risk no premature good wishes. It was a very tiresome evening. Mr. Chepstow bored him inexpressibly; the more so, that being his mother’s guest, he felt bound to be civil to the good-natured millionaire. After dinner he was doomed to a very exhausting tête-à-tête, in the course of which the stout widower unbosomed himself, described in glowing terms his admiration for Miss Vyse, and ended by expressing his hopes that Sir Ralph would look favourably on the proposed alliance. “I am very happy to hear of it, I assure you, Mr. Chepstow,” replied Ralph. “But you are mistaken in thinking my approval has anything to say to the matter. Miss Vyse is very distantly related to me, and though she has been staying with my mother for some time, I am very slightly acquainted with her. She is, I believe, quite her own mistress. It think her fortunate in the prospect of a kind husband; and you, on your side, I need not tell you, will have an exceedingly handsome wife. May I ask when the—what do you call it?—happy event, isn’t that the proper expression, is to take place?” Mr. Chepstow’s rosy completion visibly deepened in hue.