“I envy you. You will be near to her, at any rate. Faradeane,” suddenly, “will you do one thing for me?” “I don’t know; my last promise got me into a scrape that makes me cautious. What is it?” “It isn’t much. It’s only to--to remember how--how dearly I loved her, and to promise, if anything should happen to her, any trouble, anything wrong, that you will stand her friend, as you have stood mine. You see, I’ve learned to rely on you so much----” “What is likely to happen to the wife of the wealthy Mr. Bradstone?” said Faradeane, pacing to and fro again, with knit brows. “Well, well, I promise. Is that all?” “That’s enough!” said Bertie, simply. “Now, good-by.” “Good-by; be a man, Cherub!” His white hand closed round the lad’s soft, girlish ones and wrung them; then the two men parted, without another word. CHAPTER XVI. BARTLEY BRADSTONE’S VICTORY. The news of the engagement spread like wildfire, and caused almost as much excitement in the county as a general conflagration would have done. The consternation and disappointment among the eligible men, who had each one cherished a secret hope that the prize might be his, was fearful. “Confound these city beggars!” said one young baronet, who had laid constant siege to Olivia’s heart for three hunting seasons. “They carry everything off nowadays. Seems to me that a man’s thought nothing of--by the women, at any rate--unless he has made a pile of money out of cotton or stocks and shares. Here’s the fellow without a grandfather, or an ounce of blood in his veins, carries off the loveliest and sweetest girl we’ve got. Hang me if I don’t go and get a stool in a confounded counting-house, and make a pile myself. I don’t know what’s come to things nowadays; it’s all money, money, money.” Aunt Amelia was delighted, and almost went into hysterics, when Olivia quietly told her, the morning after Bartley Bradstone had been accepted. “I am so glad you have taken my advice, my dear,” she said, pressing a spasmodic kiss upon Olivia’s white forehead. “Ah, if I had only had some one to advise me when I was your age; but I was a giddy girl, and would have my own way. I was always too particular, too fastidious, my dear; that has been my great fault. But you are different, thank Heaven, and know how to take advantage of your opportunity; which I never did, alas! And it is a splendid opportunity. Birth and all that kind of thing are all very well, but money is the thing nowadays, and dear Bartley--you don’t mind my calling him Bartley, I hope, dear? Say so at once if you do, I’m sure I am the last to presume----” “Call him anything you please, aunt,” said Olivia, wearily. “Very well, dear; what was I saying? Oh, dear Bartley is so--so nice, so really nice with all his wealth, that I am sure you will be happy. And when is the wedding to be? Now, don’t blush.” It was a very pale blush, if any, that rose to Olivia’s face; it went paler, indeed.