“Probably not.  Poor Lord Fordham’s health does not improve, and so I am very thankful that he does not fulfil Babie’s ideal.”

“Poor young man!” said Ellen, with sincere compassion but great relief.

“That’s the worst of it,” said the father, gravely.  “I am afraid it is a consumptive family, though this young fellow looks hearty and strong.”

“He has always been so,” said Caroline.  “He and his sister are quite different in looks and constitution from poor Fordham, and I believe from the elder ones.  They are shorter and sturdier, and take after their mother’s family.”

“I told you so, papa,” said Ellen.  “I was sure nothing could be amiss with him.  You can’t expect everybody to look like our boys.  Well, Caroline, you have always been a good sister; and to think of your having done this for little Essie!  Tell me how it was?  Had you suspected it?”

It was all very commonplace and happy.  Colonel and Mrs. Brownlow were squeezed into the house to await Mrs. Evelyn’s reply, and Cecil and Esther sat hand-in-hand all the evening, looking, as Allen and Babie agreed, like such a couple of idiots, that the intimate connection between selig and silly was explained.

Mrs. Robert Brownlow whiled away the next day by a grand shopping expedition, followed by the lovers, who seemed to find pillars of floor-cloth and tracery of iron-work as blissful as ever could be pleached alley.  Nay, one shopman flattered Cecil and shocked Esther by directing his exhibition of wares to them, and the former was thus excited to think how soon they might be actually shopping on their own account, and to fix his affections on an utterly impracticable fender as his domestic hearth.  Meanwhile Caroline had only just come in from amusing Mrs. Lucas with the story, when a cab drove up, and Mrs. Evelyn was with her, with an eager, “Where are they?”

“Somewhere in the depths of the city, with her mother, shopping.  Ought I to have told you?”

“Of course I trust you.  She must be nice—-your Friar’s sister; but I could not stay at home, and Duke wished me to come—-”

“How is he?”

“So very happy about this-—the connection especially.  I don’t think he could have borne it if it had been the Infanta.  How is that dear Babie?”

“Quite well.  I left her walking with Lina in the Square gardens.”

“As simple and untouched as ever?”

“As much as ever a light-hearted baby.”

“Ah! well, so much the better.  And let me say, once for all, that you need not fear any closer intercourse with us.  My poor Duke has made up his mind that such things are not for him, and wishes all to be arranged for Cecil as his heir.  Not that he is any worse.  With care he may survive us all, the doctors say; but he has made up his mind, and will never ask Babie again.  He says it would be cruel; but he does long for a sight of her bright face!”