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78 year-old, pink-and-white beauty, quickly gather about her as fine an army as she did at Periwinkle. She was only a bit of a girl then, she is grown up now, so there are no more unseemly scrimmages of admirers behind hedges, or flying columns on the beach; things are conducted respectably, and it is no longer a question of a kiss of the hand or a love-letter, but of love and marriage. Yes, love and marriage; and if we don't look very sharp after our Alice she will be carried off by somebody or other, to a dead certainty. Over and above half a dozen indiscriminate lovers, she has a shadow, a tall, bronzed, dark-faced, handsome shadow, that every young woman in St. Swithins has vainly tried to make her own. Captain Lovelace, however, has his own ideas about female beauty, and until his eyes lit on our sister's fresh, saucy, charming face he has never felt inclined to lose his own identity; but now—one, two, three, and away!—head over heels into love he falls, and Alice follows at a respectful distance. There have been some half-dozen public meetings, one stolen one, a rose given and exchanged, eager words spoken, a proposal made and answered, a kiss or two (who knows?), and Alice, with a promptitude that does her credit, has made up her mind that she loves him; that she will marry him; and that, if papa does not see things in the same light as she does, he must be brought to reason.

Young people are very intolerant, very daring; they defy circumstance, and would rule the world in their own way, and in return receive many a hard knock before learning the inevitable lesson of giving in. So, one fine morning, when the governor is unsuspiciously swearing over the weekly bills in the library, Captain Lovelace is announced, and with a pluck that does him infinite credit, requests the honour of Miss Alice Adair's hand in marriage. (We are all listening at the door, Alice in the post of honour at the key-hole, the rest of us spread out behind her, anxiously looking forward to the excitement of seeing the bold