personally, but, theoretically, he objected to titles, and, to use
his own words, 'was not without apprehension lest, amid the
enervating influences of a pleasure-loving aristocracy, the true
principles of republican simplicity should be forgotten.' His
objections, however, were completely overruled, and I believe that
when he walked up the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square, with
his daughter leaning on his arm, there was not a prouder man in the
whole length and breadth of England.

The Duke and Duchess, after the honeymoon was over, went down to
Canterville Chase, and on the day after their arrival they walked
over in the afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pine-woods.
There had been a great deal of difficulty at first about the
inscription on Sir Simon's tombstone, but finally it had been
decided to engrave on it simply the initials of the old gentleman's
name, and the verse from the library window. The Duchess had
brought with her some lovely roses, which she strewed upon the
grave, and after they had stood by it for some time they strolled
into the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There the Duchess sat
down on a fallen pillar, while her husband lay at her feet smoking a
cigarette and looking up at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he threw
his cigarette away, took hold of her hand, and said to her,
'Virginia, a wife should have no secrets from her husband.'

'Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you.'

'Yes, you have,' he answered, smiling, 'you have never told me what
happened to you when you were locked up with the ghost.'

'I have never told any one, Cecil,' said Virginia gravely.