ejoiced to have an
opportunity of meeting Alethea, whom I had not seen for some few years,
but with whom I had been in constant correspondence. She and I had
always been friends from the time we had played together as children
onwards. When the death of her grandfather and grandmother severed her
connection with Paleham my intimacy with the Pontifexes was kept up by my
having been at school and college with Theobald, and each time I saw her
I admired her more and more as the best, kindest, wittiest, most lovable,
and, to my mind, handsomest woman whom I had ever seen. None of the
Pontifexes were deficient in good looks; they were a well-grown shapely
family enough, but Alethea was the flower of the flock even as regards
good looks, while in respect of all other qualities that make a woman
lovable, it seemed as though the stock that had been intended for the
three daughters, and would have been about sufficient for them, had all
been allotted to herself, her sisters getting none, and she all.

It is impossible for me to explain how it was that she and I never
married. We two knew exceedingly well, and that must suffice for the
reader. There was the most perfect sympathy and understanding between
us; we knew that neither of us would marry anyone else. I had asked her
to marry me a dozen times over; having said this much I will say no more
upon a point which is in no way necessary for the development of my
story. For the last few years there had been difficulties in the way of
our meeting, and I had not seen her, though, as I have said, keeping up a
close correspondence with her. Naturally I was overjoyed to meet her
again; she was now just thirty years old, but I thought she looked
handsomer than ever.

Her father, of course, was the lion of the party, but seeing that we were
all meek and quite willing to be eaten, he roared to us rather than at
us. It was a fine sight to see him tucking his napkin under his rosy old
gills, and letting it fall over his capacious waistcoat while the high
light from the chandelier danced about the bump of benevolence on his
bald old head like a star of Bethlehem.

The soup was real turtle; the old gentleman was evidently well pleased
and he was beginning to come out. Gelstrap stood behind his master's
chair. I sat next Mrs Theobald on her left hand, and was thus just
opposite her father-in-law, whom I had every opportunity of observing.

During the first ten minutes or so, whi