You get the truth from your relations."
Anyone hostile towards matrimony, seeing Sir Guy in the character of a newly-returned bridegroom, would certainly have said that marriage was not a failure in his case, for he looked wonderfully bright and happy as he presented his wife to Aunt Jelly.
Lady Errington, on the other hand, still preserved her appearance of fragility and her air of calmness, forming with her reposeful manner a great contrast to her husband, who was bubbling over with excitement and looked like a happy schoolboy out on his holiday.
"Here we are, Aunt Jelly," he said in his loud, hearty voice, kissing his elderly relation, "back from foreign parts and glad to be home once more. Don't you think Alizon is looking well?"
"I don't know yet," replied Aunt Jelly sharply, with a keen look at the young couple. "Come here, my dear, and give me a kiss."
Alizon had a horror of feminine embraces, and always skilfully avoided demonstrative friends, but from this direct command there was no possibility of escaping, so she submitted to the ordeal with the best grace she could and then took her seat near Miss Corbin, while Guy went to the end of the room to shake hands with Minnie Pelch.
"Well, Miss Pelch, and how are you? Jolly, eh!--ah, that's right. Been writing any more poetry? By Jove, you're quite a literary person."
Minnie smiled faintly at this compliment and glanced rather disapprovingly at Guy, who was far too healthy and English-looking to resemble her favourite heroes of the Manfred-Lara type, who all had pale faces, raven hair, and no morals. Guy, however, having done his duty towards his aunt's companion, wandered back to that redoubtable lady and sat down by his wife.
Being thus placed before the judge, Aunt Jelly commenced to cross-examine them both in her own brusque way.
"Well, Guy," she said, resuming her knitting, "now you've idled away so many months on the Continent, I hope you've come back to look after your property once more."