moment; but quickly regained his composure, as Clemency, having had
recourse to both her pockets - beginning with the right one, going
away to the wrong one, and afterwards coming back to the right one
again - produced a letter from the Post-office.

'Britain was riding by on a errand,' she chuckled, handing it to
the Doctor, 'and see the mail come in, and waited for it. There's
A. H. in the corner. Mr. Alfred's on his journey home, I bet. We
shall have a wedding in the house - there was two spoons in my
saucer this morning. Oh Luck, how slow he opens it!'

All this she delivered, by way of soliloquy, gradually rising
higher and higher on tiptoe, in her impatience to hear the news,
and making a corkscrew of her apron, and a bottle of her mouth. At
last, arriving at a climax of suspense, and seeing the Doctor still
engaged in the perusal of the letter, she came down flat upon the
soles of her feet again, and cast her apron, as a veil, over her
head, in a mute despair, and inability to bear it any longer.

'Here! Girls!' cried the Doctor. 'I can't help it: I never could
keep a secret in my life. There are not many secrets, indeed,
worth being kept in such a - well! never mind that. Alfred's
coming home, my dears, directly.'

'Directly!' exclaimed Marion.

'What! The story-book is soon forgotten!' said the Doctor,
pinching her cheek. 'I thought the news would dry those tears.
Yes. "Let it be a surprise," he says, here. But I can't let it be
a surprise. He must have a welcome.'