not imagine how Lucy knows.'

'By telegraph!'

Phoebe's face assumed an expression of immeasurable wonder.

'I almost hope to find you at cross purposes, after all,' said Honora.

'No such good luck,' laughed Lucilla. 'Cinderella's seniors never could
go off two at a time. Ah! there's the name. I beg your pardon, Phoebe.'

'But, Lucy, what can you mean? Who can have telegraphed about Augusta?'

'Ah! you knew not the important interests involved, nor Augusta how much
depended on her keeping the worthy admiral in play. It was the nearest
thing--had she only consented at the end of the evening instead of the
beginning, poor Lord William would have had the five guineas that he
wants so much more than Mr. Calthorp!'

'Lucy!'

'It was a bet that Sir Nicholas would take six calendar months to supply
the place of Lady Bannerman. It was the very last day. If Augusta had
only waited till twelve!'

'You don't mean that he has been married before. I thought he was such
an excellent man!' said Phoebe, in a voice that set others besides
Lucilla off into irresistible mirth.

'Once, twice, thrice!' cried Lucilla. 'Catch her, Honor, before she
sinks into the river in disgust with this treacherous world.'

'Do you know him, Lucy?' earnestly said Phoebe.

'Yes, and two of the wives; we used to visit them because he was an old
captain of Uncle Kit's.'

'I would not believe in number three, Phoebe, if I were you,' said Owen,
consolingly; 'she wants confirmation.'

'Two are as bad as three,' sighed Phoebe; 'and Augusta did not even call
him a widower.'

'Cupid bandaged! It was a case of love at first sight. Met at the
_Trois Freres Provencaux_, heard each other's critical remarks, sought an
introduction, compared notes; he discovered her foresight with regard to
pale ale; each felt that here was a kindred soul!'

'That could not have been telegraphed!' said Phoebe, recovering spirit
and incredulity.

'No; the telegram was simply "Bannerman, Fulmort. 8.30 p.m., July 10th."
The other particulars followed by letter this morning.'

'How old is he?' asked Phoebe, with resignation.

'Any age above sixty. What, Phoebe, taking it to heart? I was prepared
with congratulations. It is only second best, to be sure; but don't you
see your own emancipation?'

'I believe that had never occurred to Phoebe,' said Owen.

'I beg your pardon, Lucy,' said Phoebe, thinking that she had appeared
out of temper; 'only it had