when the wedding took place, some three weeks later, st. peter’s was crowded with a perfect mob of smart people. the service was read in the most impressive manner by the dean of chichester, and everybody agreed that they had never seen a handsomer couple than the bride and bridegroom. they were more than handsome, however—they were happy. never for a single moment did lord arthur regret all that he had suffered for sybil’s sake, while she, on her side, gave him the best things a woman can give to any man—worship, tenderness, and love. for them romance was not killed by reality. they always felt young.

some years afterwards, when two beautiful children had been born to them, lady windermere came down on a visit to alton priory, a lovely old place, that had been the duke’s wedding present to his son; and one afternoon as she was sitting with lady arthur under a lime-tree in the garden, watching the little boy and girl as they played up and down the rose-walk, like fitful sunbeams, she suddenly took her hostess’s hand in hers, and said, ‘are you happy, sybil?’

‘dear lady windermere, of course i am happy. aren’t you?’

‘i have no time to be happy, sybil. i always like the last person who is introduced to me; but, as a rule, as soon as i know people i get tired of them.’

‘don’t your lions satisfy you, lady windermere?’

‘oh dear, no! lions are only good for one season. as soon as their manes are cut, they are the dullest creatures going. besides, they behave very badly, if you are really nice to them. do you remember that horrid mr. podgers? he was a dreadful impostor. of course, i didn’t mind that at all, and even when he wanted to borrow money i forgave him, but i could not stand his making love to me. he has really made me hate cheiromancy. i go in for telepathy now. it is much more amusing.’

‘you mustn’t say anything against cheiromancy here, lady windermere; it is the only subject that arthur does not like people to chaff about. i assure you he is quite serious over it.’

‘you don’t mean to say that he believes in it, sybil?’

‘ask him, lady windermere, here he is’; and lord arthur came up the garden with a large bunch of yellow roses in his hand, and his two children dancing round him.

‘lord arthur?’

‘yes, lady windermere.’

‘you don’t mean to say that you believe in cheiromancy?’

‘of course i do,’ said the young man, smiling.

‘but why?’

‘because i owe to it all the happiness of my life,’ he murmured, throwing himself into a wicker chair.

‘my dear lord arthur, what do you owe to it?’

‘sybil,’ he answered, handing his wife the roses, and looking into her violet eyes.

‘what nonsense!’ cried lady windermere. ‘i never heard such nonsense in all my life.’