My heart was beating like a
girl's at her first ball. "France"--"France"--the very "r" in that
glorious word kept beating in my ears with the roll of a side-drum.
I gripped the _Times_, steadied myself down to master the short
little paragraph on which my eyes had been fixed, unseeing, for a
couple of minutes, and found myself staring at this announcement:
"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place,
between Peter Farrell, Esq., of 15a The Albany, and Constantia,
only daughter of the late George Wellesley Denistoun, Esq.,
J.P., D.L., of Framnel in the West Riding of Yorkshire, and of
Mrs. Denistoun of 105 Upper Brook Street, W."
NIGHT THE TWENTY-FOURTH.
CONSTANTIA.
The drumming in my ears died suddenly out to silence, and then
started afresh more violently than ever, and more sharply, for the
long pinging of an electric bell shrilled through it. The pinging
ceased sharply: the drumming continued; and I looked up to see the
mess sergeant standing over me, at attention.
"Telephone call for you, sir.
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