“There,” said Mr. Herman, “the dogs have opened the box with one bite.”
“Or rather, you pressed a spring and opened it,” said Grace, laughing, “for I saw you. Now let Mr. Hazerelle see the miniature.”
“Come here, Arthur,” said Mr. Herman, “stand behind Miss Gordon while she opens the box; now look over her shoulder and see the lady you are to marry.”
Arthur looked over the shoulder of Grace, and he saw her lovely face reflected from the little mirror in her hand—it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss the cheek which was so near his lips, and there was a laugh from every one in the room, the clear, musical laugh of his old tormentor being heard above the rest.
“Well,” said Mr. Herman, “we did not intend to have the ceremony performed till evening, but as Arthur has pulled off old Crosbie’s nose, and crushed Springle’s face, the plot cannot go on, so we will ask the clergyman to walk in—he is in the library—and put poor Arthur out of suspense. Welcome Mr. Green, and you, too, good lady—ah, there comes Garry Lovel and his wife, and all the boys. Yes, Arthur, I know how to appreciate the kindness of your friends, and see—there is good Mrs. May, too—am I not a good manager?”
Every thing was ready, and before Arthur could ask for an explanation of what had occurred, he stood up and became the happy husband of Grace Gordon.
“Now step in this room,” said Mr. Herman, after the ceremony was over, “and let me tell you how this has happened.”
“Oh, never mind,” said Arthur; “I care not how it has been brought about, for the sole wish of my heart has been gratified.”
“But Grace Gordon has no fortune, and as you have none, what are you going to do?”
“Arthur,” said Grace, “bear with him just now, he is jesting. Mr. Herman, did you not promise me that all mystery should cease the moment we were married?”