Philippa "became
engaged" to her new suitor, and did _not_ fall out with him. They were
married within the year, and three months later her former _fiance's_
father died, rather unexpectedly. His eldest son, coming home from
Burmah on sick-leave, died on the voyage, of dysentery; and his second
brother, a naval officer, was in the autumn of the same year killed by a
splinter at the Battle of Navarino. So by a succession of fatalities
Romeo found himself the owner of his father's estate, and a not very
distant neighbour of Juliet and his successful rival.

It appeared that he had consoled himself by marrying a Miss Abercrombie,
Miss Dickenson believed. These Romeos always marry a Miss Something;
who, owing to the way she comes into the story, is always on the
top-rung of the ladder of insipidity. Nobody cares for her; she appears
too late to interest us. No doubt there were several Miss Abercrombies
on draught, and he selected the tallest or the cleverest or the most
musical, avoiding, of course, the dowdiest.

However, there was Lady Ancester's romance, told to account for the
languid intercourse between the Castle and Pensham Steynes, and the
non-recognition of one another by Gwen and the Man in the Park. Miss
Dickenson added a rider to the effect that she could quite understand
the position. It would be a matter of mutual tacit consent, tempered
down by formal calls enough to allay local gossip. "I think Miss Torrens
has stopped," said she collaterally; you know how one speaks
collaterally? "Shall we walk towards the house?"

Then the Hon. Percival made a speech he half repented of later;
_videlicet_, when he woke next morning. It became the fulcrum, as it
were, of an inexplicable misgiving that Miss Dickenson would be bearing
the light worse than ever when he saw her at breakfast. The speech
was:--"It's very nice out here. One can hear the Don at Covent Garden.
Besides ... one can hear out here just as well." This must have been
taken to mean that two could. For the lady's truncated reply was:--"Till
you've finished your cigar, then!"

Combustion was lip-close when the cigar-end was thrown away. The reader
of this story may be able to understand a thing its writer can only
record without understanding--the fact that this gentleman felt grateful
to the fine moonlight night, now nearly a _fait-accompli_, for enhancing
this lady's white silk, which favoured a pretence that she was only
reasonably _passee_, and enabl