During the next day or two Mounser Green thought a great deal about it.  That the story was not exactly true, he knew very well.  But it is not to be expected that a girl before her marriage should be exactly true about her old loves.  That she had been engaged to Lord Rufford and had been cruelly jilted by him he did believe.  That she had at one time been engaged to the Paragon he was almost sure.  The fact that the Paragon had left her money was a strong argument that she had not behaved badly to him.  But there was much that was quite certain.  The five thousand pounds were quite certain; and the money, though it could not be called a large fortune for a young lady, would pay his debts and send him out a free man to Patagonia.  And the family honours were certainly true.  She was the undoubted niece of the Duke of Mayfair, and such a connection might in his career be of service to him.  Lord Mistletoe was a prig, but would probably be a member of the Government.  Mounser Green liked Dukes, and loved a Duchess in his heart of hearts.  If he could only be assured that this niece would not be repudiated he thought that the speculation might answer in spite of any ambiguity in the lady’s antecedents.

“Have you heard about Arabella’s good fortune?” young Glossop asked the next morning at the office.

“You forget, my boy,” said Mounser Green, “that the young lady of whom you speak is a friend of mine:’ 

“Oh lord!  So I did.  I beg your pardon, old fellow.”  There was no one else in the room at the moment, and Glossop in asking the question had in truth forgotten what he had heard of this new intimacy.

“Don’t you learn to be ill-natured, Glossop.  And remember that there is no form so bad as that of calling young ladies by their Christian names.  I do know that poor Morton has left Miss Trefoil a sum of money which is at any rate evidence that he thought well of her to the last.”

“Of course it is.  I didn’t mean to offend you.  I wouldn’t do it for worlds,—­as you are going away.”  That afternoon, when Green’s back was turned, Glossop gave it as his opinion that something particular would turn up between Mounser and Miss Trefoil, an opinion which brought down much ridicule upon him from both Hoffmann and Archibald Currie.  But before that week was over,—­in the early days of April,—­they were forced to retract their opinion and to do honour to young Glossop’s sagacity.  Mounser Green was engaged to Miss Trefoil, and for a day or two the Foreign Office could talk of nothing else.

“A very handsome girl,” said Lord Drummond to one of his subordinates.  “I met her at Mistletoe.  As to that affair with Lord Rufford, he treated her abominably.”  And when Mounser showed himself at the office, which he did boldly, immediately after the engagement was made known, they all received him with open arms and congratulated him sincerely on his happy fortune.  He himself was quite contented with what he had done and thought that he was taking out for himself the very wife for Patagonia.