Mr Brandon had given his friend an account of his unexampled and astounding persecutions by the Widow Keswick, and the old colonel had been much interested thereby; and it would have greatly grieved his soul not to become acquainted with this new feature of the affair. "Read it, sir," he cried; "I would like to know what sort of New Year congratulations she offers you."
"Congratulations indeed!" said Mr Brandon; "you needn't expect anything of that kind." But he opened the note; and, turning, so that he could get a good light upon it, began to read aloud, as follows:
"MY DEAREST ROBERT."
"Confound it, sir," exclaimed the reader, "did you ever hear of such a piece of impertinence as that?"
Colonel Pinckney Macon leaned back in his chair, and laughed aloud. "It is impertinent," he cried, "but it's confoundedly jolly! Go on, sir. Go on, I beg of you."
Mr Brandon continued:
"It is not for me to suggest anything of the kind, but I write this note simply to ask you what you would think of a triple wedding? There would certainly be something very touching about it, and it would be very satisfactory and comforting, I am sure, to our nieces and their husbands to know that they were not leaving either of us to a lonely life. Would we not make three happy pairs, dear Robert? Remember, I do not propose this, I only lay it before your kindly and affectionate heart.
"Your own
"Martha Ann Keswick."
Colonel Macon, who, with much difficulty and redness of face, had restrained himself during the reading of this note, now burst into a shout of laughter, while Mr Brandon sprang to his feet, and crumpling the note in his hand, threw it into the fire; and then, turning around, he exclaimed: "Did the world ever hear anything like that! Triple wedding, indeed! Does the pestiferous old shrew imagine that anything in this world would induce me to marry her?"