“Which was written by a German, dear Edward,” said Miss Ley, smiling. “That’s as it may be,” said Edward, unabashed, “but the sentiment’s English and that’s all I care about.” “Hear! hear!” cried Bertha. “I believe Edward has aspirations towards a political career. I know I shall finish up as the wife of the local M.P.” “I’m patriotic,” said Edward, “and I’m not ashamed to confess it.” “Rule Britannia,” sang Bertha, “Britannia rules the waves, Britons never, never shall be slaves. Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay! Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!” “It’s the same everywhere now,” proceeded the orator. “We’re choke full of foreigners and their goods. I think it’s scandalous. English music isn’t good enough for you--you get it from France and Germany. Where do you get your butter from? Brittany! Where d’you get your meat from? New Zealand!” This he said with great scorn, and Bertha punctuated the observation with a resounding chord. “And as far as the butter goes, it isn’t butter--it’s margarine. Where does your bread come from? America. Your vegetables from Jersey.” “Your fish from the sea,” interposed Bertha. “And so it is all along the line--the British farmer hasn’t got a chance!” To this speech Bertha played a burlesque accompaniment, which would have irritated a more sensitive man than Craddock; but he merely laughed good-naturedly. “Bertha won’t take these things seriously,” he said, passing his hand affectionately over her hair. She suddenly stopped playing, and his good-humour, joined with the loving gesture, filled her with remorse. Her eyes filled with tears. “You are a dear, good thing,” she faltered, “and I’m utterly horrid.” “Now don’t talk stuff before Aunt Polly. You know she’ll laugh at us.” “Oh, I don’t care,” said Bertha, smiling happily. She stood up and linked her arm with his. “Eddie’s the best tempered person in the world--he’s perfectly wonderful.” “He must be, indeed,” said Miss Ley, “if you have preserved your faith in him after six months of marriage.” But the maiden lady had stored so many observations that she felt an urgent need to retire to the privacy of her bed-chamber, and sort them. She kissed Bertha and held out her hand to Edward. “Oh, if you kiss Bertha, you must kiss me too,” said he, bending forward with a laugh. “Upon my word!” said Miss Ley, somewhat taken aback; then as he was evidently insisting she embraced him on the cheek. She positively blushed. * * * * * The upshot of Miss Ley’s investigations was that once again the hymeneal path had been found strewn with roses; and the idea crossed her head as she laid it on the pillow, that Dr. Ramsay would certainly come and crow over her: it was not in masculine human nature, she thought, to miss an opportunity of exulting over a vanquished foe. “He’ll vow that I was the direct cause of the marriage. The dear man, he’ll be so pleased with my discomfiture that I shall never hear the last of it. He’s sure to call to-morrow.”