The next morning two letters were laid before George Bertram as they were sitting at breakfast. Then he did know it; then he did learn it, and not till then. It was now the end of August, and in the coming month of November--about the end of November--Sir Henry Harcourt, Her Majesty's solicitor-general, and member for the Battersea Hamlets, was to lead to the hymeneal altar Miss Caroline Waddington, the granddaughter and presumed heiress of the great millionaire, Mr. Bertram. Who so high now on the ladder of fortune as the fortunate Sir Henry Harcourt? In love and politics and the realms of Plutus, he carried all before him. Yes, Sir Henry Harcourt was the coming man. Quidnuncs at the clubs began to say that he would give up the legal side of politics and devote himself to statesmanship. He would be the very man for a home secretary. Old Bertram, they observed, was known to be dying. Old Bertram, they also observed, had made a distinct promise to Sir Henry and his granddaughter. The marriage was to take place at Hadley, from the old man's house; the old man was delighted with the match, &c., &c., &c.; who so happy, who so great, who so fortunate as Sir Henry Harcourt? That habit of bringing in letters at the breakfast-table has its good points, certainly. It is well that one should have one's letters before the work or pleasure of the day commences: it is well to be able to discuss the different little subjects of mutual interest as they are mentioned. "Eliza's baby has got her first tooth: it's all right. There's nothing like Daffy's Elixir after all." "My dear, the guano will be here to-day; so the horses will be wanted all the week--remember that." "What a bore, papa; for here's a letter to say that Kate Carnabie's coming; and we must go over to the Poldoodles. Frank Poldoodle is quite smitten with Kate." This is all very convenient; but the plan has its drawbacks. Some letters will be in their nature black and brow-compelling. Tidings will come from time to time at which men cannot smile. There will be news that ruffles the sweetest temper, and at receipt of which clouds will darken the most kindly face. One would fain receive such letters in private.