‘Bless your dear hearts!’ exclaimed Mrs. Milderson, in a burst of enthusiasm. ‘It seems for all the world as if you was a-planning of your honeymoon; and I do think as how a fortnight in a quiet place in the country, where you can get your new potatoes and summer cabbages fresh out of the garden, and a new-laid egg and a drop of rich cream for your breakfasts, is better than all your rubbiging ‘To Paris and back for five pounds,’ which Mrs. Binks went when she and Binks was married, and was that ill with the cookery at the cheap restorers—everythink fried in ile, and pea-soup that stodgy you could cut it with a knife, and cold sparrowgrass with ile and vinegar—and the smells of them drains, as if everybody in the place had been emptying cabbage-water, as her life was a burding to her.’ ‘We’re not quite ready for our honeymoon yet, nurse,’ answered Lucius; ‘but depend upon it, when that happy time does come, we won’t patronise Paris and the cheap restaurants. We’ll find some tranquil corner in this busy world, almost as remote from the haunts of man as the mountains of the moon.’ Mrs. Milderson charged herself with the responsibility of packing Lucille’s portmanteau that night, though the girl declared herself quite equal to the task. ‘I won’t have you worritin’ and stoopin’ over boxes and pulling out drawers,’ said the nurse; ‘everythink shall be ready to the moment; and if I forget so much as a hairpin, you may say the unkindest things you can to me when you come back.’ Having settled everything entirely to his own satisfaction, Lucius departed, after a tender farewell which was to last only till to-morrow. He looked forward to this first journey with his betrothed with an almost childish delight. Only two or three hours’ swift transit through green fields, and past narrow patches of woodland, chalky hills, rustic villages, nameless streams winding between willow-shaded banks, white high-roads leading heaven knows where: but, with Lucille, such a journey would be two or three hours in paradise. And then what a joy to bring those two together—those two women whom alone, of all earth’s womankind, he fondly loved! The clocks were striking ten as he left Cedar House, after impressing upon Lucille the necessity for a long night’s rest. His homeward way would take him very near that humble alley in which Mr. and Mrs. Wincher had found a shelter for their troubles. He remembered this, and resolved to pay them a visit to-night, late as it was, in order to tell Mr. Wincher that he stood acquitted of any wrong against his master. ‘I was quick enough to suspect and to accuse them,’ thought Lucius; ‘let me be as quick to acknowledge my error.’