“Count upon me,” I answered blandly, even as I had promised Mrs. Effie. Disgusted I was. Let them maul each other about over the wretched “honour.” They could all be dead sports if they chose, but I was now firmly resolved that for myself I should make not a bit of pretence. The creature might trick poor George into a marriage, but I for one would not affect to regard it as other than a blight upon our house. I was just on the point of hoping that the victim himself might have cut off to unknown parts when I saw him enter. By the other members of the party he was hailed with cries of delight, though his own air was finely honest, being dejected in the extreme. He was dressed as regrettably as usual, this time in parts of two lounge-suits. As he joined those at the table I constrained myself to serve the champagne. Senator Floud arose with a brimming glass. “My friends,” he began in his public-speaking manner, “let us remember that Red Gap’s loss is England’s gain--to the future Countess of Brinstead!” To my astonishment this appalling breach of good taste was received with the loudest applause, nor was his lordship the least clamorous of them. I mean to say, the chap had as good as wished that his lordship would directly pop off. It was beyond me. I walked to the farthest window and stood a long time gazing pensively out; I wished to be away from that false show. But they noticed my absence at length and called to me. Monstrously I was desired to drink to the happiness of the groom. I thought they were pressing me too far, but as they quite gabbled now with their tea and things, I hoped to pass it off. The Senator, however, seemed to fasten me with his eye as he proposed the toast--“To the happy man!” I drank perforce. “A body would think Bill was drinking to the Judge,” remarked Cousin Egbert in a high voice. “Eh?” I said, startled to this outburst by his strange words. “Good old George!” exclaimed his lordship. “Owe it all to the old juggins, what, what!” The Klondike person spoke. I heard her voice as a bell pealing through breakers at sea. I mean to say, I was now fair dazed. “Not to old George,” said she. “To old Ruggles!” “To old Ruggles!” promptly cried the Senator, and they drank. Muddled indeed I was. Again in my eventful career I felt myself tremble; I knew not what I should say, any _savoir faire_ being quite gone. I had received a crumpler of some sort--but what _sort?_ My sleeve was touched. I turned blindly, as in a nightmare. The Hobbs cub who was my vestiare was handing me our evening paper. I took it from him, staring--staring until my knees grew weak. Across the page in clarion type rang the unbelievable words: BRITISH PEER WINS AMERICAN BRIDE His Lordship Tenth Earl of Brinstead to Wed One of Red Gap’s Fairest Daughters