“Oh, Fred, Fred, darling! Oh, my own and only love--I tried to run away from you, and I couldn’t! Fred, my angel, it was all that cruel thing--that cruel thing you said. Oh, Fred, you do remember?” She shook him. “You know you said that you did not think any other man would be such a f-f-fool--Yes, you did--you said no other man would be such a f-fool as to run away with me!” * * * * * My Lord Kilcroney, with his Lady and the other friends interested in the erratic young couple, were all agreed that the Mad Brat was well matched in her spouse. For of all the hot-headed, light-witted, frantic fellows--these were my Lord’s own words--he had ever had to deal with, Lieutenant Fred Simpson, of the Marines, was the “jewel of the lot!” The united efforts of himself, Squire Day, and Lord Verney, were ultimately successful, however, in preventing the series of duels which Master Fred at first seemed bent on bringing about. Even Lord Kilcroney did not escape a challenge; but on his representing his services on the Salisbury Road, the affair had to end in a laugh. Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs, on Pamela’s prompting, made a very frank and full apology, couched in language so admirably chosen, that even the young Othello had to be satisfied with it. “I confess,” he said, “that I was led away, Mr. Simpson. I confess that I lost my head (and very nearly my heart). But ask yourself whether, in such company, an angel from heaven might not have succumbed!” Providence itself intervened in the matter of Colonel Endacott, for this gentleman’s wound, whether owing to original distemper in the blood, or to the ministrations of Doctor Dawson, became so inflamed that it was held as more than doubtful whether that gallant officer would ever walk again. He was invalided out of the regiment, thereby providing at least one step for Mr. Simpson. There only remained Sir Jasper--no easy personage to deal with, as my Lord knew from long experience. But by the time the baronet’s sword arm had healed an excellent post abroad had been obtained for Mr. Simpson; and to the infinite relief of all her relations, the Mad Brat and her spouse carried their bickerings and reconciliations to another clime. CHAPTER XVI IN WHICH MY LADY KILCRONEY HAS THE LAST WORD The best-tempered of women are apt to be a trifle peevish after a wedding, especially if they are responsible for the event, and have had most of the trouble of the bridal preparations. My Lady Kilcroney had had two reasons for patronising the marriage between Mr. Jocelyn Bellairs and Miss Pamela Pounce. In the first place she flattered herself that she had made it. It pleased her sense of rectitude to know that it was an heroic decision. Jocelyn, the rascal, had gone too far, and Pamela was a first-class good girl. ’Twas but justice.