I don't ask for it now." I went downstairs with the message, of which I took the liberty of presenting a new and amended edition of my own contriving, as follows: "My lady and Miss Rachel regret that they are engaged, Colonel; and beg to be excused having the honour of seeing you." I expected him to break out, even at that polite way of putting it.
To my surprise he did nothing of the sort; he alarmed me by taking the thing with an unnatural quiet.

His eyes, of a glittering bright grey, just settled on me for a moment; and he laughed, not out of himself, like other people, but INTO himself, in a soft, chuckling, horridly mischievous way.

"Thank you, Betteredge," he said.

"I shall remember my niece's birthday." With that, he turned on his heel, and walked out of the house.
The next birthday came round, and we heard he was ill in bed.

Six months afterwards--that is to say, six months before the time I am now writing of--there came a letter from a highly respectable clergyman to my lady.
It communicated two wonderful things in the way of family news.