“That’s all lovely, Dan,” she said; “but what am _I_ to do?” The question brought his thoughts down from the empyræan like a gash in a balloon. “Well, there will be the house to look after,” he said, in an altered tone; “and then--well--there will be babies--and lots of things,” he concluded lamely. “Oh, I don’t like babies,” said Lizzie, with frank inconsequence. “They always want such a lot of fussing after, and they’re always squalling. I’m sure I shall want to smack them. Nasty little things.” He looked at her rather perplexedly. It was a delicate subject. She caught his glance and coloured. “You shouldn’t go saying such things,” she murmured, giggling in embarrassment--“and we not married yet!” Then something seemed to catch him by the heart, a queer chilly grip, and tug it downwards. He blamed himself for having suggested the idea, although he had done so without shadowing thoughts. The innuendo jarred upon him--he could not tell why. “I am sorry,” he said gravely. There was a silence for some time. Goddard idly turned over the leaves of a rickety album filled with faded photographs of stiff, staring people in the costume of the sixties. Lizzie lay back in her chair, and devised the white satin wedding-dress. At last she called to him softly. “Dan.” He turned, saw her reclining there, smiling at him. Her cheeks were so pink, her fair hair so bewilderingly soft and fluffy, her parted lips so fresh and inviting, her young figure so cleanly cut, in spite of the ill-fitting dress and cheap corsets beneath, her white throat set off by the coquettish blue ribbon so alluring, that the heart of the young man, who knew little of the ways and fascinations of women, threw off the cold grip in a great quick throb. “You haven’t given me a kiss all the time, Dan,” she said without stirring. Well, he rose and kissed her. And the next day he called on the vicar of the parish, and settled the question of the banns. It was over. He felt lighter. There is nothing that is more irksome to a strong-willed man than indecision, and Goddard had passed through a period of grave misgiving. On his way down the path to the vicarage gate, however, he met Mr. Aloysius Gleam just entering it. The Member let fall his gold-rimmed eye-glass in some surprise, as he greeted him. “What, more miracles? You in the house of Rimmon?” he exclaimed, for Goddard had been a thorn in the vicar’s flesh for some time past. “I’m going to get married,” replied Goddard, by way of explanation. The Member drooped his shoulders and lowered the point of his stick in a helpless attitude, and looked at him with an air of dismay. “What _are_ you doing it for? Just when you ought to be going round the country like a firebrand. Now you’ll be a damp faggot. I know. Go back and tell the vicar you didn’t mean it. It was an elaborate ‘draw’ on your part.” Daniel stuck his hands in his pockets and laughed. “I feel inclined to answer you like Touchstone,” he said.