 character, and influence him for
good during the more critical periods of his life.
    I was asked to be the second godfather, and was rejoiced to have an
opportunity of meeting Alethæa whom I had not seen for some few years, but with
whom I had been in constant correspondence. She and I had always been friends
from the time we had played together as children onwards. When the death of her
grandfather and grandmother severed her connection with Paleham my intimacy with
the Pontifexes was kept up by my having been at school and college with
Theobald, and each time I saw her I admired her more and more as the best,
kindest, wittiest, most loveable, and to my mind handsomest woman whom I had
ever seen. None of the Pontifexes were deficient in good looks; they were a
well-grown shapely family enough, but Alethæa was the flower of the flock even
as regards good looks, while in respect of all other qualtities that make a
woman loveable, it seemed as though the stock that had been intended for the
three daughters, and would have been about sufficient for them had all been
allotted to herself, her sisters getting none and she all.
    It is impossible for me to explain how it was that she and I never married.
We two knew exceedingly well, and that must suffice for the reader. There was
the most perfect sympathy and understanding between us; we knew that neither of
us would marry anyone else. I had asked her to marry me a dozen times over;
having said this much I will say no more upon a point which is in no way
necessary for the development of my story. For the last few years there had been
difficulties in the way of our meeting, and I had not seen her, though, as I
have said, keeping up a close correspondence with her. Naturally I was overjoyed
to meet her again; she was now just thirty years old, but I thought she looked
handsomer than ever.
    Her father, of course was the lion of the party, but seeing that we were all
meek, and quite willing to be eaten, he roared to us rather than at us. It was a
fine sight to see him tucking his napkin under his rosy old gills and letting it
fall over his capacious waistcoat while the high light from the chandelier
danced about the bump of benevolence on his bald old head like a star of
Bethlehem.
    The soup was real turtle; the old gentleman was evidently well pleased, and
was beginning to come out. Gelstrap stood behind his master's chair. I sat next
Mrs. Theobald on
