MY SISTER AFTER ALL,

-people?” said my. father, whose face
beamed with a satisfaction more sedately
reflected in Aunt Maria’s countenance.
“Do you grudge the old folks a share?
Eh, sir? eh?”

And the old gentleman pinched my
shoulder, and clapped me on the back.
He was positively playful.

“Stop, my dear father,” said I, “you're
mistaken.”

“Eh, what?” said my father, and Aunt
Maria drew her laces round her and pre-
pared for war.

“Polly and I are not engaged, sir, if
that’s what you think,” said I, desperately.

My father and Aunt Maria both opened
their mouths at once.

‘*Dinner’s on the table, sir,” the butler
announced. My father lacked a subject for
his vexation, and turned upon old Bowles:

“ Take the dinner to Ps

xs the kitchen,” said I, “and keep
it warm for ten minutes ; we are not ready.
Now, my dear father, come to my room,
for I have something to tell you.”

There was no need for Polly to ask
Aunt Maria to go with her. That lady
drove her daughter before her to her bed-
room, with a severity of aspect which
puzzled and alarmed poor Leo, whom
they passed in the corridor. A blind man
could have told by the rustle of her dress
that Mrs. Ascott would have a full ex-
planation before she broke bread again at
our table.

 

 

I fancy she was not severe upon the ©

future Lady Damer, when Polly’s tale was
told.

115

As to my father, he was certainly vexed
and put out at first. But day by day my
lady-love won more and more of his heart.
One evening, a week later, he disappeared
mysteriously after dinner, and then re-
turned to the dining-room, carrying some
old morocco cases.

‘My dear boy,” he said, in an almost
faltering voice, “I never dared to hope
my dear wife’s diamonds ‘would be so
worthily worn by yours. Your choice has
made an old man very happy, sir. For
a thoroughly high-bred tone, for intelli-
gence, indeed, I may say, brilliancy of
mind, and for every womanly grace and
virtue, I have seen no one to approach
her since your mother’s death. I should
have loved little Polly very much, but
your choice has been a higher one—
more refined—more refined. For, strictly
between ourselves, my dear boy, our dear
little Polly has, now and then, just a
thought too much of your Aunt Maria
about her.”

The Rector and Maria were made
happy. My father “carried it through,”
by my desire. Uncle Ascott was delighted,
and became a benefactor to the parish;
but it took Aunt Maria some years to for-
get that the patronised curate had scorned
the wife she had provided for him, only to
marry her own daughter.

When I bade farewell to Adeline on
our wedding day, she gave mé her cheek
to kiss with a pretty grace, saying,

“Vou see, Regie, I am your sister after
all !”