Later on we returned to Palermo to break the news to Miss Kitwater.  Shocked though she was, she received the tidings with greater calmness than I had expected she would do.  Perhaps, after all, she felt that it was better that it should have ended so.

* * * * *

Three years have elapsed since we paid that terrible visit to Palermo.  It may surprise you, or it may not, when I say that I am now a married man, Margaret Kitwater having consented to become my wife two years ago next month.  The only stipulation she made when she gave her decision was that upon my marriage I should retire from the profession in which I had so long been engaged.  As I had done sufficiently well at it to warrant such a step, I consented to do so, and now I lead the life of a country gentleman.  It may interest some people to know that a certain day-dream, once thought so improbable, has come true, inasmuch as a considerable portion of my time is spent in the little conservatory which, as I have said elsewhere, leads out of the drawing-room.  I usually wear a soft felt hat upon my head, and as often as not I have a pipe in my mouth.  Every now and then Margaret, my wife, looks in upon me, and occasionally she can be persuaded to bring a young Fairfax with her, who, some people say, resembles his father.  For my own part I prefer that he should be like his mother—­whom, very naturally, I consider the best and sweetest woman in the world.

THE END