The Star-Gazers. Fenn George Manville

yes, uncle, very much indeed.”

      “How do you know you do?” cried the major, in the tone of an examiner dealing viva voce with a candidate for a post in the army.

      “Oh, because he loves me,” said Glynne, naïvely; “and, you see, I’ve known him a little ever since he was a boy.”

      “Yes, but look here; what makes you love him? Have you no other reason?”

      “No, uncle, dear,” said Glynne; and there was not the slightest heightening of colour, nor a trace of excitement as she spoke.

      “But, my dear child,” cried the major in the most perplexed way, “people don’t fall in love like that.”

      “Don’t they, uncle?”

      “No, no, of course not. There’s a lot of passion and storm, and tempest and that sort of thing.”

      “But only in books.”

      “Oh, yes, in real life. I remember when I fell in love with Lady Mary Callaghan.”

      “Were you really once in love, uncle?” cried Glynne with the first touch of animation that she had shown.

      “Of course I was – of course – once – but it didn’t come to anything. Well, there was a lot of fire and fury over that.”

      “Was there, uncle?”

      “Yes, to be sure. I felt as if I couldn’t live without her, and she felt as if she couldn’t live without me, and we were always writing letters to one another and couldn’t keep apart.”

      “Oh, I never felt anything of that kind, uncle, and I rarely write letters if I can help it.”

      “Then you can’t be in love,” said the major triumphantly.

      “But were you really in love, uncle, with Lady Mary – Mary – ”

      “Callaghan, my dear. Yes.”

      “But you did not marry her, uncle.”

      “N-no – no; you are quite right, my dear, I did not. Circumstances occurred and – er – we were not married. But really, Glynne, my dear, you are a most extraordinary girl.”

      “I am very sorry.”

      “Don’t say that, my dear; but – er – I – er – this is a very serious thing, this promising yourself in marriage, and I – er – I – er – should like you to be perfectly sure that you are doing wisely. I think a great deal of you, my dear – old bachelor as I am, and it would trouble me more than I can say if you did not make a happy match.”

      “Dear uncle,” she said tenderly, as she clasped her hands upon his arm, and clung to him more closely. “But you need not be afraid, for Robert says he loves me very dearly, and what more could a woman desire?”

      “Humph! No, of course not, my dear,” said the major, looking more perplexed than ever, as he gazed down into the unruffled face by his side. “Untouched, if I know anything of womankind,” he said to himself, “but if I attempt to interfere I shall be making trouble, and upset Jack as well. What the devil shall I do?”

      There came no mental answer to this self-put question, and the communings were stopped by Glynne herself, who went on thoughtfully and in the most matter-of-fact way.

      “I told Robert that we must not think of being married for some time to come, and he said he was glad of that.”

      “Said he was glad of it!” cried the major, looking at her aghast.

      “Yes, uncle, dear. You see he has to make so many engagements beforehand. His card is quite full for matches of one kind and another.”

      “Is it indeed?” said the major sarcastically.

      “Yes, uncle. He has to go in training – in training – in training – for, what did he call it? Oh, I remember; in training for the various events, and he would not like to break any of them and pay forfeit.”

      The major’s eyes rolled in their sockets, and he seemed to be trying to swallow something that was extremely unsavoury, but he held his peace.

      “He says these engagements take up a great deal of his time; but the people like him, so that he can’t very well get out of them.”

      “Ah, it would be a pity to disappoint them,” said the major, while Glynne, in her happy, childlike content, did not notice his tone, but talked on as calmly as if the great event of a woman’s life were a most commonplace affair, justifying to the fullest extent her uncle’s idea that her heart was quite untouched.

      They had spent so long over their walk that Sir John had had time to finish his visit to the pigs, and they all reached the park gates together.

      “Halloa!” he exclaimed, looking inquiringly from one to the other, “so you two have had a good talk. Here, what does your uncle say, my dear?” he continued, with a suspicious tone in his voice.

      “Uncle? Say?” replied Glynne, opening her beautiful eyes a little wider. “Oh, uncle has said very little, papa. I’m afraid I have done nothing but prattle to him all the time.”

      “What about?” said her father, sharply.

      “Oh, principally about my engagement,” she replied calmly.

      “Well, and what does he say to it?” said Sir John, half-defiantly.

      “Uncle thinks it a very serious step.”

      “Yes, of course.”

      “And that I ought to be careful in taking it.”

      “To be sure, my dear, to be sure. Well?”

      “Well, that was all, papa,” she replied. “Lunch must be ready. I’ll go in and take off my things. You are coming soon? Oh, here is Robert. I won’t stop for fear of keeping you waiting.”

      The captain was some fifty yards away, but Glynne did not stay. She merely waved her hand, and hurried to the front of the house, while her future lord came slowly on, whistling, with his hands in his pockets.

      “You’ve not opposed the match, then?” whispered Sir John.

      “No,” said the major, “but I think less of it than ever.”

      “Humph!” ejaculated his brother. “Have you spoken to Rolph yet?”

      “No. Haven’t seen him.”

      “Then, for goodness’ sake, drop all prejudice, Jem, and shake hands warmly. You see they are devotedly attached.”

      “No, I don’t,” said the major, gruffly; “but I’ll shake hands.”

      “Yes, do, Jem, do. It’s the one desire of my life to see Glynne engaged to a good, manly fellow who cares for her, and, now the opportunity has come, I look to you to help me.”

      “Humph!” ejaculated the major, as Rolph came up, and Sir John struck the iron while it was hot, to use his own form of expression.

      “Ready for lunch, Rob?”

      “Awfully,” said the captain. “Quite an edge on.”

      “That’s right,” cried Sir John. “Come along. Oh, look here though,” he added, as if upon second thoughts; “I’ve had no experience before in this sort of thing, and I want to get it over, and go on again as usual. I never do anything without telling the major here.”

      Rolph bowed, and the major returned his salute stiffly.

      “I’ve been telling him about you know what, and it’s all settled now, so you can shake hands, you know.”

      “Yes; my brother has told me about your proposal,” said the major, coldly. “You have won a prize, sir, and I wish you joy.”

      “Thankye, major, thankye,” cried Rolph, seizing his hand and shaking it violently. “You don’t want to say anything more to me, do you?”

      “N-no,” said the major,