About twenty years ago, when this melancholy Mrs. Leigh was a lovely young Canadian of rather humble origin, Theodore Leigh, a graceless subaltern in the Artillery, had just returned from leave, and, going one day to the Rink, was “regularly flumocksed,” as he expressed it, by the vision of Miss Lesbia Jones skimming over the ice like a swallow on the wing.  And when she proceeded to cut a figure of 8 backwards, and execute another intricate movement called “the rose,” his admiration became vehement, and, seizing on a brother-officer he had observed speaking to her, demanded an introduction.

“To the ‘Tee-to-tum’?  Oh, certainly.”

Miss Lesbia was very small, and wore the shortest of petticoats, which probably suggested the appellation.

Fatigued with her evolutions, she had sunk with a pretty little air of abandon on the platform, and her destiny, in a beaver coat and cap, was presented by Mr. Wingfield.

After this, a common object at the Rink was a tall young man, in all the agonies of a debut on skates, and a bewitching little attendant sprite shooting before and around him, occasionally righting him with a fairy touch when he evinced too wild a desire to dash his brains against the wall.

At all the sleighing parties, also, Miss Lesbia’s form was invariably observed in Mr. Leigh’s cutter, with a violet and white “cloud” matching the robe borders and ribbons on the bells; and he and the “Tee-to-tum” spun round together in half the valses of every ball during the winter.

Perhaps, after all, the attachment might have lived and died without exceeding the “muffin” phase, had not the “beauty,” Captain of the battery cut in, and made rather strong running, too, partly because he considered her “fetching,” and partly, he said, “from regard to Leigh, who was making an ass of himself.”

Jealousy turned philandering into earnest.  Theodore went straight to the maiden aunt, with whom Miss Jones resided, and, after most vehement badgering, got her consent to a private marriage within three days.  The poor spinster, though much flustered, knowing his attentions to Lesbia had been a good deal talked about, felt almost relieved to have it settled respectably, though so abruptly.

On the appointed day, having obtained a week’s leave, Theodore, with his best man, the last joined subaltern, dashed up to the church-door in a cutter, just in time to receive Lesbia and her bewildered chaperone.

After the ceremony, they started off for their week’s honeymoon to the Falls; and the best man, absolved from secrecy, spread the news through the regiment.

Theodore had scribbled off the intelligence in reckless desperation to his father, of whom he was the only child, and Sir Timothy Leigh, a proud and ambitious man, never forgave the irrevocable piece of folly so cavalierly announced to him.

Theodore received a letter from the family lawyer, couched in the terms of sorrowful reprehension such functionaries usually assume on similar occasions.