some of my mining shares had turned out trumps. Then Westlock came
out as Governor General, and Lady Enid had brought out with her a
jolly nice girl as governess to her children. She was the daughter
of a parson in Hertfordshire near the Brinsley estates. Well, I
won't say--bein' the soul of truth--that I fell in love with
her--straight away--because I don't think I ever fell deep in
love--straight away--with any girl but you, Vivie. But I did feel,
as it was hopeless askin' you to marry me, here was the wife I
wanted. She was good enough to accept me and the Westlocks were
awfully kind and made everything easy. Lady Enid's a perfect
brick--and, by the bye, she's a great Suffragist too. Well: we were
married at Pretoria in 1904, and now we've got four children; a
sturdy young Frank, a golupshous Vivie--oh, I told Muriel
everything, she's the sort of woman you can--And the other two are
called Bertha after my mother and Charlotte after Mrs. Bernard
Shaw. I sent you, Vivie--a newspaper with the announcement of my
marriage--Dj'ever get it?"

_Vivie_: "Never. But I was undergoing a sea-change of my own, just
then, which I will tell you all about presently."

_Frank_: "Well then. I came back to England on a hurried visit. You
remember, Praddy? But you were away in Italy and I couldn't find
Vivie anywhere. I called round at where your office was--Fraser and
Warren--where we parted in 1897--and there was no more Fraser and
Warren. Nobody knew anything about what had become of you. P'raps I
might have found out, but I got a bit huffy, thought you might have
written me a line about my marriage. I did write to Miss Fraser, but
the letter was returned from the Dead Letter office," (_Vivie_: "She
married Colonel Armstrong.") "Well, there it is! By some devilish
lucky chance I had no sooner got to London from Southhampton, day
before yesterday, than some one told me all about the expected row
between the Suffragettes and the police. Thought I'd go and see for
myself what this meant. No idea before how far the thing had gone,
or what brutes the police could be. Had a sort of notion, don't know
why, that dear old Viv would be in it, up to the neck. Got mixed up
in the crowd and helped a woman or two out of it. Lady Feenix--they
said it was--picked up some and took 'em into her motor. And then I
heard a cry which could only be in Vivie's voice--dear old
Viv--(leans forward with shining eyes to press her hand) and ...
there we are.