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396 say?" The Times is read in New Zealand, I suppose; and a vision of his dumbfounded face, as he comes across the intelligence, tickles me into sudden laughter. I have heard of such tricks being played before, practical jokes people call them, but I never believed any one could do anything so foolish; where could be the good of it? Why did they do it, these other people? For fun? A sorrier jest, surely, neither man nor woman ever perpetrated. For mischief? It could not work any.

Let me try and think. I do not seem to be able to follow up any one thought. Did those other people ever do it not in senseless wantonness of folly, but to try and work a girl harm? When her lover was away from her, was it ever done that he might see the paper, and believe her false to him? He would only laugh at it it looks like a lie; he would know it is a lie. He would be angry at my name being coupled with George's, but of course he could not believe it. I wonder who wrote it? We have no friends we Adairs, to trouble themselves about our affairs, or play us tricks, and no enemies, that I know of, who hate us heartily enough to try and do us a mischief.

A thought suddenly strikes me: Silvia! And yet, why should she? How can this absurd ruse benefit her in any way? My being married to George, even if it were true, could bring her no nearer to Paul. And yet how can it be Silvia, who has never been here in her life? How does she know about George Tempest, or Mr. Skipworth, and all the names? The traitor must be some one in our midst.

Well, I must go and tell mother; and I have just reached the door, when it opens, and George comes in.

"Good morning!" I say, making him a courtesy. "And do you know that you are my bridegroom?"

But he does not smile: he looks very grave. He does not seem to see the joke in quite the same light that I do.