that I fancy it'll be a deuced long time before your delectable
friend tries his hand at matrimony again, that's all. Done! oh, by
George, he is done, and no mistake. Look at me, sir, ain't I a charming
bride?"

With which elegant language Geraldine took off her hat, pulled down some
false braids, pushed her hair off her forehead, shook her head like a
water-dog after a bath, and grinned in Gower's astonished eyes--_not_
Geraldine, but her twin-brother, Pretty Face!

"Do you know me now, old boy?" asked the Etonian, with demoniacal
delight,--"do you know me now? Haven't I chiselled him--haven't I
tricked him--haven't I done him as green as young gooseberries, and as
brown as that bag? Do you fancy he'll boast of his conquests again, or
advertise for another wife? So you didn't know how I got Gary Clements,
of the Ten Bells, to write the letters for me? and Justine to dress me
in Geraldine's things? You know they always did say they couldn't tell
her from me; I've proved it now, eh?--rather! Oh, by George, I never had
a better luck! and not a creature guesses it, not a soul, save Justine,
Nell, and I! By Jupiter, Gower, if you'd heard that unlucky Belle go on
swearing devotion interminable, and enough love to stock all Mudie's
novels! But I never dare let him kiss me, though my beard is down,
confound it! Oh! what jolly fun it's been, Gower, no words can tell. I
always said he shouldn't marry her; he'll hardly try to do it now, I
fancy! What a lark it's been! I couldn't have done it, you know, without
that spicy little French girl;--she did my hair, and got up my
crinoline, and stole Geraldine's dress, and tricked me up altogether,
and carried my notes to the hollow oak, and took all my messages to
Belle. Oh, Jupiter! what fun it's been! If Belle isn't gone clean out of
his senses, it's very odd to me. When he was going to kiss me, and
whispered, 'My dearest, my darling, my wife!' I just took off my hat and
grinned in his face, and said, 'Ain't this a glorious go? Oh! by
George, Gower, I think the fun will kill me!'"

And the wicked little dog of an Etonian sank back among the carriage
cushions stifled with his laughter. Gower staggered backwards against a
roadside tree, and stood there with his lips parted and his eyes wide
open, bewildered, more than that cool hand had ever been in all his
days, by the extraordinary finish of poor Belle's luckless wooing; the
postilion rolled off his saddle in cachinnatory fits at th