“‘By the way, I have a piece of news for you which will interest you, and which you will, I am sure, be glad to hear; for, of course, you will have by this time got over any little _tendresse_ you may have had in that direction. Eva’ (that is the woman to whom I wrote, and to whom I thought I was engaged) ‘is going to be married to a Mr. Plowden, a gentleman who has been acting as _locum tenens_ for Mr. Halford.’” Here Jeremy sprang up, and swore a great oath. Ernest motioned him down, and went on: “‘I say I am certain that you will be glad to hear this, because the match is in every respect a satisfactory one, and will, I am sure, bring dear Eva happiness. Mr. Plowden is well off, and, of course, a clergyman—two great guarantees for the success of their matrimonial venture. Eva tells me that she had a letter from you last mail’ (the letter I read you, gentlemen), ‘and asks me to thank you for it. If she can find time, she will send you a line shortly; but, as you will understand, she has her hands very full just at present. The wedding is to take place at Kesterwick Church on the 17th of May’ (that is to-morrow, gentlemen), ‘and, if this letter reaches you in time, I am sure you will think of us all on that day. It will be very quiet owing to our dear aunt’s death being still so comparatively recent. Indeed, the engagement has, in obedience to Mr. Plowden’s wishes—for he is very retiring—been kept quite secret, and you are absolutely the first person to whom it has been announced. I hope that you will feel duly flattered, sir. We are very busy about the trousseau, and just now the burning question is, of what colour the dress in which Eva is to go away in after the wedding shall be. Eva and I are all for gray. Mr. Plowden is for olive-green, and, as is natural under the circumstances, I expect that he will carry the day. They are together in the drawing-room settling it now. You always admired Eva (rather warmly once; do you remember how cut up you both were when you went away? Alas for the fickleness of human nature!); you should see her now. Her happiness makes her look lovely—but I hear her calling me. No doubt they have settled the momentous question. Good-bye. I am not clever at writing, but I hope that my news will make up for my want of skill.—Always yours, “‘Florence Ceswick.’ Now for the enclosure,” said Ernest: “‘Dear Ernest,—I got your letter. Florence will tell you what there is to tell. I am going to be married. Think what you will of me; I cannot help myself. Believe me, this has cost me great suffering; but my duty seems clear. I hope that you will forget me, Ernest, as henceforth it will be my duty to forget you. Good-bye, my dear Ernest; O, good-bye!’”                         ‘E.’” “Humph!” murmured Mr. Alston beneath his breath. “As I thought—clay, and damned bad clay, too!” Slowly Ernest tore the letter into small fragments, threw them down, and stamped upon them with his foot as though they were a living thing.