taste and effect, but much more often are made ridiculous; and as this was pre-eminently sensible, natural and real, it shall not run the risk of being spoilt by any attempt of the kind. It must be sufficient to say that the interview was perfectly successful, only Alice persisted in saying that, although she entirely and joyfully believed what Tournier told her about her brother, yet she must speak to him herself, and hear from his own lips that he gave a willing consent. And Tournier only admired her the more for it.
Away, therefore, she went with radiant face to seek her brother; nor did it take long to get his consent. As she came into the room he forestalled her object, and folding her to his breast said, “Dear Alice, I know what you are going to say. Your face tells the tale. You have fulfilled, more than fulfilled, your loving duty to me. Do one thing more to make me happy—go and make that dear good fellow happy all the rest of his days. And remember,” he
added, as he held her a little from him, and looked into her blushing face with pretended severity, “you shall never come under my roof again if you disobey me! Come, I will give you to him myself.”
And they found Tournier awaiting the verdict without the slightest degree of suspense.
“I have brought you your wife,” Cosin cried.
What followed may well be imagined by all but ill-natured people, who see no chance of their ever being placed in a similar predicament themselves.
In the course of the evening, Cosin suddenly said with great gravity, amounting almost to solemnity, and looking first at Tournier, and then at Alice: “There is a matter that still remains to be settled. You have run away, Tournier, with my wife, and it is only fit and right that you should make what compensation is in your power.”
Both the others were taken rather aback, especially as Cosin continued to seem very much in earnest.
“There must be a marriage-settlement of some sort.”
“Assuredly,” Tournier replied, relieved, but still somewhat puzzled.