’And how do you do, Alice, and how well you are looking, and how pleased I am to see you.  I would have come before, only my leader was coughing and I couldn’t take him out.  Oh, I was so wild; it is always like that; nothing is so disappointing as horses; whenever you especially require them they are laid up, and you can’t imagine the difficulty I had to get him along; I must really get another leader; he was trying to turn round the whole way—­if it hadn’t been for the whip.  I took blood out of him three times running.  But I know you don’t care anything about horses, and I want to hear about this marriage.  I am so glad, so pleased, but tell me, do you like him?  He seems a very nice sort of man, you know, a man that would make a woman happy. . . .  I am sure you will be happy with him, but it is dreadful to think we are going to lose you.  I shall, I know, be running over to London on purpose to see you; but tell me, what I want to know is, do you like him?  Would you believe it, I never once suspected there was anything between you?’

‘Yes, my dear May,’ Alice replied smiling, ’I do like Edward Reed; nor do I think that I should ever like any other man half as much:  I have perfect confidence in him, and where there is not confidence there cannot be love.  He has bought a small practice in Notting Hill, which with care and industry he hopes may be worked up into a substantial business.  We shall be very poor at first, but we shall be able to make both ends meet.’

’I can see it all; a little suburban semi-detached house, with green Venetian blinds, a small mahogany sideboard, and a clean capped maid-servant; and in the drawing-room you won’t have a piano—­you don’t care for music, but you’ll have some basket chairs, and small bookcases, and a tea-table with tea-cakes at five—­oh, won’t you look quiet and grave at that tea-table.  But tell me, it is all over the county that Mrs. Barton won’t hear of this marriage, and that she won’t allow your father to go to the chapel to give you away.  It is a shame, and for the life of me I can’t see what parents have to do with our marriages, do you?’

Without waiting for an answer, May continued the conversation, and with vehemence she passed from one subject to another utterly disconnected without a transitional word of explanation.  She explained how tiresome it was to sit at home of an evening listening to Mrs. Gould bemoaning the state of the country; she spoke of her terrier, and this led up to a critical examination of the good looks of several of the officers stationed at Gort; then she alluded to the last meet of the hounds, and she described the big wall she and Mrs. Manly had jumped together; a new hat and an old skirt that she had lately done up came in for a passing remark, and, with an abundance of laughter, May gave an account of a luncheon-party at Lord Rosshill’s; and, apparently verbatim, she told what each of the five Honourable Miss Gores had said about the marriage.  Then growing suddenly serious, she said: