"Out of pure good nature. I was getting married myself and wanted everybody to be as happy as I was myself, particularly my old father. Now I wonder he did not write to me of his happiness; but perhaps he has done so and the letter passed me on the sea. When did this marriage take place?"
"On the last day of May."
"Whe-ew! Then there was ample time in which to have written the news to me. And I have had at least half a dozen business letters since the date of his marriage, in any of which he might have mentioned the occurrence had he so chosen. The lady is no longer young. She must be forty-eight, and she is handsome, cultured, dignified and of very high rank. A queenly woman!"
"Do you know whom you are talking about, Fabian?"
"Mrs. Bloomingfield, the lady I recommended, whom father married."
"Oh, indeed; I thought you didn't know what you were talking about or whom you were talking of," said Mr. Clarence.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Our father never accepted your recommendation; never proposed to the handsome, high spirited Mrs. Bloomingfield."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Fabian. "Whom, then?" "Whom? Whom should he have selected but
"'The Rose that all ad-mi-r-r-?'