"Marjory!" shouted Jack; and in a moment the lovers were in each other’s arms. "H’m," suggested Lord Otford, drily, "I believe this is a public thoroughfare!" The lovers separated abashed. "Oh, sir!" said Jack, "please give me back that document." "Why, no, Jack," answered his father, "I want that." And he and Madame glanced at each other guiltily. "But, sir!" protested Jack. "Um—the fact is—" Lord Otford had never felt so shy in his life. In vain he appealed to Madame for support; she was much too busy examining the very pretty point of her very pretty shoe. "I say, the fact is—with slight alterations—it may come in useful. Er—I, too, am John Sayle—and—um—I, too, am going to get married." "Marjory," said Jack, very gravely, "my father’s trying to be funny." But Marjolaine’s attention was divided between her mother and Lord Otford. The clumsy shyness of the one and the pretty confusion of the other gave her, as she would have said in French, furiously to think. Besides which, we must not forget she was in her Mother’s confidence. "Maman," she said, roguishly, "I believe!—Lord Otford! I believe—!" "Believe, my child, believe!" cried Lord Otford, glad not to have to enter into further explanations. He took her pretty head between his hands, and kissed her. "Here ’s the document, Jack; and—ah—there is a pleasant seat under the elm; and agreeable retirement in the—ah—Gazebo." So he and Madame sat in the arbour, and Jack and Marjolaine sat under the elm, and the leaves of that wise old tree having been awakened by Jack, asked each other with a pleasant rustle which couple was the happier of the two. There was a great to-do at the Admiral’s. I think Mrs. Poskett had been watching the lovers; for now the door burst open, and the Admiral and Jim hauled out the little brass cannon, followed by Mrs. Poskett, all in a flutter with pleasant alarm. While they were planting the gun close behind the unconscious Eyesore’s back, the lamplighter came running in—he always ran—and put out the first lamp. Barbara and Basil came slowly out of their house, and leant over the railings in a close embrace, while Ruth stood watching them from the upper window. Basil, indeed, had brought his fiddle. "Haul her out!" roared Sir Peter, alluding to the gun. Mrs. Poskett uttered a little scream. "Oh, Peter! I ’m frightened!" Jim reassured her in a hoarse grunt. "It ’s all right, Mum, I ’ve emptied her." The lamplighter put out the lower lamp. "What are you doing that for?" cried Jack. The lamplighter pointing over his shoulder, replied laconically, "Moon!" and ran off. Sir Peter was just about to apply a lighted candle to the touch-hole of the gun, when Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn, much dishevelled, threw open his window, and cried in a horrified whisper, "Sir Peter! Sir Peter!—For Heaven’s sake, don’t fire that gun!" "Why the devil not, sir?" roared Sir Peter, angrily. "Sh!" cried Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, waving a frantic hand. "_It’s a boy!_"