consequence, have been proclaimed in their turn.  I have become the property of the newspapers, until the gentle reader gets sick of the subject.  I am very sick indeed of it myself.  May the gentle reader soon be like me!  And how is dear Rachel?  Still enjoying the gaieties of London?  So glad to hear it!  Miss Clack, I need all your indulgence.  I am sadly behind-hand with my Committee Work and my dear Ladies.  But I really do hope to look in at the Mothers’-Small-Clothes next week.  Did you make cheering progress at Monday’s Committee?  Was the Board hopeful about future prospects?  And are we nicely off for Trousers?”

The heavenly gentleness of his smile made his apologies irresistible.  The richness of his deep voice added its own indescribable charm to the interesting business question which he had just addressed to me.  In truth, we were almost too nicely off for Trousers; we were quite overwhelmed by them.  I was just about to say so, when the door opened again, and an element of worldly disturbance entered the room, in the person of Miss Verinder.

She approached dear Mr. Godfrey at a most unladylike rate of speed, with her hair shockingly untidy, and her face, what I should call, unbecomingly flushed.

“I am charmed to see you, Godfrey,” she said, addressing him, I grieve to add, in the off-hand manner of one young man talking to another.  “I wish you had brought Mr. Luker with you.  You and he (as long as our present excitement lasts) are the two most interesting men in all London.  It’s morbid to say this; it’s unhealthy; it’s all that a well-regulated mind like Miss Clack’s most instinctively shudders at.  Never mind that.  Tell me the whole of the Northumberland Street story directly.  I know the newspapers have left some of it out.”

Even dear Mr. Godfrey partakes of the fallen nature which we all inherit from Adam—­it is a very small share of our human legacy, but, alas! he has it.  I confess it grieved me to see him take Rachel’s hand in both of his own hands, and lay it softly on the left side of his waistcoat.  It was a direct encouragement to her reckless way of talking, and her insolent reference to me.

“Dearest Rachel,” he said, in the same voice which had thrilled me when he spoke of our prospects and our trousers, “the newspapers have told you everything—­and they have told it much better than I can.”

“Godfrey thinks we all make too much of the matter,” my aunt remarked.  “He has just been saying that he doesn’t care to speak of it.”

“Why?”

She put the question with a sudden flash in her eyes, and a sudden look up into Mr. Godfrey’s face.  On his side, he looked down at her with an indulgence so injudicious and so ill-deserved, that I really felt called on to interfere.

“Rachel, darling!” I remonstrated gently, “true greatness and true courage are ever modest.”