“But we shall find a roof for you, grandfather, somewhere.  We shall never part.”

“The best of girls always,” said Mr. Emblem; “the best of girls!  Mr. Arbuthnot, you are a happy man.”

Then the Sage lifted up his voice and said solemnly: 

“On her tongue dwelleth music; the sweetness of honey floweth from her lips; humility is like a crown of glory about her head; her eye speaketh softness and love; her husband putteth his heart in her bosom and findeth joy.”

“Oh, you are all too good to me,” murmured Iris.

“A friend of mine,” said Mr. Emblem, “now, like nearly all my friends, beneath the sod, used to say that a good marriage was a happy blending of the finest Wallsend with the most delicate Silkstone.  But he was in the coal trade.  For my own part I have always thought that it is like the binding of two scarce volumes into one.”

“Oh, not second-hand volumes, grandfather,” said Iris.

“I don’t know.  Certainly not new ones.  Not volumes under one-and-twenty, if you please.  Mr. Arbuthnot, I am glad; you will know why very soon.  I am very glad that Iris made her choice before her twenty-first birthday.  Whatever may happen now, no one can say that either of you was influenced by any expectations.  You both think yourself paupers; well, I say nothing, because I know nothing.  But, children, if a great thing happen to you, and that before four-and-twenty hours have passed, be prepared—­be prepared, I say—­to receive it with moderate rejoicing.”

“To-morrow?” Iris asked.  “Why to-morrow?  Why not to-night, if you have a secret to tell us?”

“Your father enjoined in his last letter to wait till you were twenty-one.  The eve of your birthday, however, is the same thing as your birthday.  We will open the papers to-night.  What I have to tell you, Iris, shall be told in the presence of your lover, whatever it is—­good or bad.”

He led the way down-stairs into the back shop.  Here he lit the gas, and began to open his case, slowly and cautiously.

“Eighteen years ago, Iris, my child, I received your father’s last letter, written on his death bed.  This I have already told you.  He set down, in that letter, several things which surprised me very much.  We shall come to these things presently.  He also laid down certain instructions for your bringing up, my dear.  I was, first of all, to give you as good an education as I could afford; I was to keep you as much as possible separated from companions who might not be thought afterward fit to be the friends of a young lady.  You have as good an education as Lala Roy and I could devise between us.  From him you have learned mathematics, so as to steady your mind and make you exact; and you have learned the science of heraldry from me, so that you may at once step into your own place in the polite world, where, no doubt, it is a familiar and a necessary study.  You have also learned music, because that is an accomplishment which every one should possess.  What more can any girl want for any station?  My dear, I am happy to think that a gentleman is your lover.  Let him tell us, now—­Lala Roy and me—­to our very faces, if he thinks we have, between us, made you a lady.”