on the whole I think he was not sorry for his daughter's death, since the only opposing obstacle to his marriage with Diana Chesney was now removed. I fancy Diana herself was sorry, so far as such a frivolous little American could be sorry for anything,--perhaps, however it would be more correct to say that she was frightened. Sibyl's sudden end startled and troubled her,--but I am not sure that it grieved her. There is such a difference between unselfish grief, and the mere sense of nervous personal shock! Miss Charlotte Fitzroy took the news of her niece's death with that admirable fortitude which frequently characterizes religious spinsters of a certain age. She put by her knitting,--said 'God's will be done!' and sent for her favorite clergyman. He came, stayed with her some hours drinking strong tea,--and the next morning at church administered to her communion. This done, Miss Fitzroy went on the blameless and even tenor of her way, wearing the same virtuously distressed expression as usual, and showed no further sign of feeling. I, as the afflicted millionaire-husband, was no doubt the most interesting figure on the scene; I was, I know very well got up, thanks to my tailor, and to the affectionate care of the chief undertaker who handed me my black gloves on the day of the funeral with servile solicitude, but in my heart I felt myself to be a far better actor than Henry Irving, and if only for my admirable mimicry of heart-break, more fully worthy of the accolade. Lucio did not attend the obsequies,--he wrote me a brief note of sympathy from town, and hinted that he was sure I could understand his reasons for not being present. I did understand, of course,--and appreciated his respect, as I thought, for me and my feelings,--yet strange and incongruous as it may seem, I never longed so much for his company as I did then! However,--we had a glorious burial of my fair and false lady,--prancing horses drew coroneted carriages in a long defile down the pretty Warwickshire lanes to the grey old church, picturesque and peaceful, where the clergyman and his assistants in newly-washed surplices, met the flower-laden coffin, and with the usual conventional mumblings, consigned it to the dust. There were even press-reporters present, who not only described the scene as it did _not_ happen, but who also sent fancy sketches, to their respective journals, of the church as it did _not_ exist. I mention this simply to show how thoroughly all "proper forms" were carried out and conceded to. After the ceremony all we "mourners" went back to Willowsmere to luncheon, and I well remember that Lord Elton told me a new and _risqué_ joke over a glass of port before the meal was finished. The undertakers had a sort of festive banquet in the servants' hall,--and taking everything into due consideration, my wife's death gave a great deal of pleasure to many people, and put useful money into several ready pockets. She had left no blank in society that could not