“‘Is Lady Lilford at home, may I ask,’ said I, in a very apologetic tone of voice.

“‘I haven’t the honor of her ladyship’s acquaintance,’ replied he in a lisp, evidently enjoying my perplexity, which was every moment becoming more evident.

“‘But this is her house,’ said I, ‘at least—­’

“‘Lady Lilford is at Paris, sir,’ said the young lady, who now spoke for the first time.  ’Papa has taken the house for the season, and that may perhaps account for your mistake.’

“What I muttered by way of apology for my intrusion, I know not; but I stammered—­the young lady blushed—­the beau chuckled, and turned to the window, and when I found myself in the street, I scarcely knew whether to laugh at my blunder, or curse my disappointment.

“The next morning I called upon my aunt’s lawyer, and having obtained her address in Paris, sauntered to the ‘Junior Club,’ to write her a letter before post hour.  As I scanned over the morning papers, I could not help smiling at the flaming paragraph which announced my marriage, to the only daughter and heiress of the Millionaire, Colonel Kamworth.  Not well knowing how to open the correspondence with my worthy relative, I folded the paper containing the news, and addressed it to ’Lady Lilford, Hotel de Bristol, Paris.’

“When I arrived at the ‘Clarendon,’ I found my wife and her maid surrounded by cases and band-boxes; laces, satins and velvets were displayed on all sides, while an emissary from ‘Storr and Mortimer’ was arranging a grand review of jewellery on a side table, one half of which would have ruined the Rajah of Mysore, to purchase.  My advice was immediately called into requisition; and pressed into service, I had nothing left for it, but to canvass, criticise, and praise, between times, which I did, with a good grace, considering that I anticipated the ‘Fleet,’ for every flounce of Valenciennes lace; and could not help associating a rich diamond aigrette, with hard labour for life, and the climate of New South Wales.  The utter abstraction I was in, led to some awkward contre temps; and as my wife’s enthusiasm for her purchases increased, so did my reverie gain ground.

“’Is it not beautiful, Jack?—­how delicately worked—­it must have taken a long time to do it.’

“‘Seven years,’ I muttered, as my thoughts ran upon a very different topic.

“‘Oh, no—­not so much,’ said she laughing; ’and it must be such a hard thing to do.’

“‘Not half so hard as carding wool, or pounding oyster shells.’

“‘How absurd you are.  Well, I’ll take this, it will look so well in—­’

“‘Botany Bay,’ said I, with a sigh that set all the party laughing, which at last roused me, and enabled me to join in the joke.

“As, at length, one half of the room became filled with millinery, and the other glittered with jewels and bijouterie, my wife grew weary with her exertions, and we found ourselves alone.