"And what did he find to say for himself?" "Oh, we hardly talked about that affair at all. However, he seems in very good spirits." "I'm sure he has no business to be." "Perhaps not, my dear; but he was." "I didn't know it was Mr. Neston. I'm so glad I didn't come down." Mrs. Pocklington went on knitting. "I expect he knew why." Mrs. Pocklington counted three pearl and three plain. "Did he say anything about it, mamma?" "One, two, three. About what, dear?" "Why, about--about my not coming?" "No. I suppose he thought you were out." "Did you tell him so?" "He didn't ask, my dear. He has other things to think about than being attentive to young women." "It's very lucky he has," said Laura, haughtily. "My dear, he lets you alone. Why can't you let him alone?" Laura took up a book, and Mrs. Pocklington counted her stitches in a brisk and cheerful tone. It will be seen that George had a good friend in Mrs. Pocklington. In truth he needed some kindly countenance, for society at large had gone mad in praise of Neaera and Gerald. They were the fashion. Everybody tried to talk to them; everybody was coming to the wedding; everybody raved about Neaera's sweet patience and Gerald's unwavering faith. When Neaera drove her lover round the park in her victoria, their journey was a triumphal progress; and only the burden of preparing for the wedding prevented the pair being honoured guests at every select gathering. Gerald walked on air. His open hopes were realised, his secret fears laid to rest; while Neaera's exaggerated excuses for George betrayed to his eyes nothing but the exceeding sweetness of her disposition. Her absolute innocence explained and justified her utter absence of resentment, and must, Gerald felt, add fresh pangs to George's remorse and shame. These pangs Gerald did not feel it his duty to mitigate. Thursday came, and Monday was the wedding-day. The atmosphere was thick with new clothes, cards of invitation, presents, and congratulations. A thorny question had arisen as to whether George should be invited. Neaera's decision was in his favour, and Gerald himself had written the note, hoping all the while that his cousin's own good sense would keep him away. "It would be hardly decent in him to come," he said to his father. "I daresay he will make some excuse," answered Lord Tottlebury. "But I hope you won't keep up the quarrel." "Keep up the quarrel! By Jove, father, I'm too happy to quarrel." "Gerald," said Maud Neston, entering, "here's such a funny letter for you! I wonder it ever reached." She held out a dirty envelope, and read the address-- "_Mr. Nesston, Esq._, "_His Lordship Tottilberry_, "_London._" "Who in the world is it?" asked Maud, laughing. Gerald had no secrets.