of that interview with his nephew. "Much better, much
better. Your husband's a rising man, and he'll live to be a rich man.
I have always thought a lawyer's profession very good for a man who
would know how to make money at it. Sir Henry knows how to do that
well. So I wish you joy with all my heart, Lady Bertram--Harcourt,
I mean. And now we'll sit down and have a bit of something to
eat." Such was the marriage-blessing of this old man, who knew and
understood the world so well. To be Lady Harcourt, and have the
spending of three or four thousand a year! What a destiny was that
for his granddaughter! And to have achieved that without any large
call upon his own purse!

It was not intended that Sir Henry and his bride were to sit down to
the breakfast. That is, I believe, now voted to be a bore--and always
should have been so voted. They had done, or were now to do their
necessary eating in private, and the company was to see no more of
them. An effort had been made to explain this to Mr. Bertram, but it
had not been successful. So when Caroline kissed him, and bade him
adieu after his little speech, he expressed himself surprised.

"What, off before the breakfast! What's the good of the breakfast
then?" His idea, in his extravagance, had been that he would give
a last feed to the solicitor-general. But he had another piece of
extravagance in his mind, which he had been unable to bring himself
to perpetrate till the last moment; but which now he did perpetrate.

"Sir Henry, Sir Henry," and he toddled to a window. "Here; you'll be
spending a lot of money on her in foreign parts, and I think you have
behaved well; here," and he slipped a bit of paper into his hands.
"But, remember, it will be the last. And, Sir Henry, remember the
interest of the three thousand--punctually--eh, Sir Henry?"

Sir Henry nodded--thanked him--slipped the bit of paper into his
pocket, and followed his bride to the carriage.

"Your grandfather has just given me five hundred pounds," was his
first word in private to his wife.

"Has he?" said Lady Harcourt, "I'm very glad of it; very." And so
she was. What else had she to be glad of now, except hundreds--and
hundreds--and hundreds of pounds?

And so they were whisked away to London, to Dover, to Paris, to Nice.

"Sed post equitem sedet atra cura."

The care was very black that sat behind that female knight. But we
will not now follow either her thoughts or her carriage-wheels.