“That there are better novels in real life than in stories, is a truth or a truism often repeated, Henrietta,” said her mother with a soft sigh, which she repressed in an instant, and proceeded:  “Poor Frank’s illness and death at Oxford brought them together the next year in a very different manner.  Geoffrey was one of his chief nurses to the last, and was a great comfort to them all; you may suppose how grateful they were to him.  Next time I saw him, he seemed quite to have buried his youthful spirits in his studies:  he was reading morning, noon, and night, and looking ill and overworked.”

“O, Uncle Geoffrey! dear good Uncle Geoffrey,” cried Henrietta, in an ecstasy; “you were as delightful as a knight of old, only as you could not fight tournaments for her, you were obliged to read for her; and pining away all the time and saying nothing about it.”

“Nothing beyond a demure inquiry of me when we were alone together, after the health of the General.  Well, you know how well his reading succeeded; he took a double first class, and very proud of him we were.”

“And still he saw nothing of her,” said Fred.

“Not till some time after he had been settled in his chambers at the Temple.  Now you must know that General St. Leger, though in most matters a wise man, was not by any means so in money matters:  and by some unlucky speculation which was to have doubled his daughter’s fortune, managed to lose the whole of it, leaving little but his pay.”

“Capital!” cried Frederick, “that brings her down to him.”

“So it did,” said his mother, smiling; “but the spectators did not rejoice quite so heartily as you do.  The general’s health was failing, and it was hard to think what would become of Beatrice; for Lord St. Leger’s family, though very kind, were not more congenial than they are now.  As soon as all this was pretty well known, Geoffrey spoke, and the general, who was very fond of him, gave full consent.  They meant to wait until it was prudent, of course, and were well contented; but just after it was all settled, the general had a sudden seizure, and died.  Geoffrey was with him, and he treated him like a son, saying it was his great comfort to know that her happiness was in his hands.  Poor Beatrice, she went first to the St. Legers, stayed with them two or three months, then I would have her to be my bridesmaid, though”—­ and Mrs. Langford tried to smile, while again she strangled a sobbing sigh—­“she warned me that her mourning was a bad omen.  Well, she stayed with my mother while we went abroad, and on our return went with us to be introduced at Knight Sutton.  Everybody was charmed, Mrs. Langford and Aunt Roger had expected a fine lady or a blue one, but they soon learnt to believe all her gaiety and all her cleverness a mere calumny, and grandpapa was delighted with her the first moment.  How well I remember Geoffrey’s coming home and thanking us for having managed so