Augusta took her hand, and they began to talk of that great bereavement and of their own wonderful survival, till at last she led the conversation round to little Dick, and Bessie Holmhurst smiled again at the thought that her darling boy, her only child, was safe asleep up stairs, and not, as she had believed, washing to and fro at the bottom of the ocean. She took Augusta’s hand and kissed it, and blessed her for having saved her child, till suddenly, somewhat to the relief of the latter, the butler opened the door and said that two gentlemen wanted very particularly to speak to Miss Smithers. And then she was once more handed over to her old enemies, the interviewers; and after them came the representatives of the company, and then more special reporters, and then an artist from one of the illustrated papers, who insisted upon her giving him an appointment in language that, though polite, indicated that he meant to have his way; and so on till nearly midnight, when she rushed off to bed and locked her door. Next morning Augusta appeared at breakfast dressed in an exceedingly becoming low dress, which Lady Holmhurst sent up to her with her hot water. She had never worn one before, and it certainly is trying to put on a low dress for the first time in full daylight—indeed, she felt as guilty as does a person of temperate habits when he is persuaded to drink a brandy and soda before getting up. However, there was no help for it; so, throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she descended. “My dear, do let me see,” said Lady Holmhurst, as soon as the servant had left the room. With a sigh Augusta uncovered her shoulders, and her friend ran round the table to look at them. There, on her neck, was the will. The cuttle ink had proved an excellent medium, and the tattooing was as fresh as the day on which it had been done, and would, no doubt, remain so till the last hour of her life. “Well,” said Lady Holmhurst, “I hope the young man will be duly grateful. I should have to be very much in love,” and she looked meaningly at Augusta, “before I would spoil myself in that fashion for any man.” Augusta blushed at the insinuation, and said nothing. At ten o’clock, just as they were half through breakfast, there came a ring at the bell. “Here he is,” said Lady Holmhurst, clapping her hands. “Well, if this isn’t the very funniest thing that I ever heard of! I told Jones to show him in here.” Hardly were the words out of her mouth when the butler, who looked as solemn as a mute in his deep mourning, opened the door and announced “Mr. Eustace Meeson,” in those deep and commanding tones which flunkeys, and flunkeys alone, have at their command. There was a moment’s pause. Augusta half rose from her chair, and then sat down again; and, noticing her embarrassment, Lady Holmhurst smiled maliciously. Then came in Eustace himself, looking rather handsome, exceedingly nervous, and beautifully got up—in a frock-coat, with a flower in it.