This announcement appeared in the Morning Post a few days after Christmas, and aroused many different emotions in the breasts of those who read it.

“She has done it to spite me,” said Mr. Tristram to himself over his morning rasher, in the little eating-house near his studio.  “I knew there was some one else in her mind when she refused me.  I rather thought it was that weedy fellow with the high nose.  Will he make her happy because he is a lord’s son?  That is what I should like to ask her.  Poor Rachel, if we had been able to marry five years ago we should never have heard of this society craze.  Well, it’s all over now.”  And Mr. Tristram henceforward took the position of a man suffering from an indelible attachment to a woman who had thrown him over for a title.

* * * * *

The Gresleys were astonished at the engagement.  It was so extraordinary that they should know both persons.  Now that they came to think of it, both of them had been to tea at the Vicarage only last summer.

“A good many people pop in and out of this house,” they agreed.

“I am as certain as that I stand here,” said Mr. Gresley, who was sitting down, “that that noisy boor, that underbred, foul-mouthed Dick Vernon wanted to marry her.”

“Don’t mention him,” said Mrs. Gresley.  “When I think of what he dared to say—­”

“My love,” said Mr. Gresley, “I have forgiven him.  I have put from my mind all he said, for I am convinced he was under the influence of drink at the time.  We must make allowance for those who live in hot climates.  I bear him no grudge.  But I am glad that a man of that stamp should not marry Miss West.  Drunkenness makes a hell of married life.  Mr. Scarlett, though he looked delicate, had at least the appearance of being abstemious.”

* * * * *

Fraeulein heard the news as she was packing her boxes to leave Warpington Vicarage.  She was greatly depressed.  She could not be with her dear Miss Gresley in this mysterious illness which some secret sorrow had brought upon her; but at least Miss West could minister to her.  And now it seemed Miss West was thinking of “Brauetigams” more than of Hester.

Fraeulein had been very uncomfortable at the Vicarage, but she wept at leaving.  Mrs. Gresley had never attained to treating her with the consideration which she would have accorded to one whom she considered her equal.  The servants were allowed to disregard with impunity her small polite requests.  The nurse was consistently, ferociously jealous of her.  But the children had made up for all, and now she was leaving them; and she did not own it to herself, for she was but five-and-thirty and the shyest of the shy; but she should see no more that noble-hearted, that musical Herr B-r-r-rown.

* * * * *

“Doll,” said Sybell Loftus to her husband at breakfast, “I’ve made another match.  I thought at the time he liked her.  You remember Rachel West, not pretty, but with a nice expression—­and what does beauty matter?  She is engaged to Mr. Scarlett.”