“Years ago, Ernest, my dear nephew, I told you that I wished this to come to pass; but other things happened to thwart my plans, and I never expected to see it. Now in God’s good time it has come, and I drink the health with all my heart. My children, I know that I am a strange man, and my life has been devoted to a single end, which is now drawing near its final development; but I have found time in it to learn to love you both. Dorothy, my daughter, I drink your health. May the happiness that was denied to your mother fall upon your head, her share and your share too! Ernest, you have passed through many troubles, and have been preserved almost miraculously to see this day. In Dorothy you will find a reward for everything, for she is a good woman. Perhaps I shall never live to see your happiness and the children of your happiness—I do not think I shall; but may the solemn blessing I give you now rest upon your dear heads! God bless you both, my children. All peace go with you, Dorothy and Ernest!” “Amen!” said Jeremy, in a loud voice, and with a vague idea that he was in church. Then he got up and shook Ernest’s hand so hard in his fearful grip that the latter was constrained to holloa out, and lifted Dolly out of her chair like a plaything, and kissed her boisterously, knocking the orchid-bloom she wore out of her hair in the process. Then they all sat down again and beamed at one another and drank port-wine—at least the men did—and were inanely happy. Indeed, the only person to whom the news was not satisfactory was Mazooku. “Ou!” he said, with a grunt, when Jeremy communicated it to him. “So the Rosebud is going to become the Rose, and I shan’t even be able to lead my father to bed now. Ou!” And from that day forward Mazooku’s abstracted appearance showed that he was meditating deeply on something. Next morning his uncle sent for Ernest into the office. Dorothy led him in. “O, here you are!” said his uncle. “Yes, here we are, Reginald,” answered Dorothy; “what is it? Shall I go away?” “No, don’t go away. What I have to say concerns you both. Come and look at the orchids, Ernest; they are beautiful. Ah!” he went on, stammering, “I forgot you can’t see them. Forgive me.” “Never mind, uncle, I can smell them;” and they went into the blooming-house appropriated to the temperate kinds. At the end of this house was a little table and some iron chairs, where Mr. Cardus would sometimes come and smoke a cigarette. Here they sat down. “Now, young people,” said Mr. Cardus, wiping his bald head, “you are going to get married. May I ask what you are going to get married on?” “By Jove,” said Ernest, “I never thought of that! I haven’t got much, except a title, a mansion with ‘numerous and valuable’ heirlooms, and one hundred and eighty acres of park,” he added, laughing.