Well, time went on; and Pierre loved Lucy, and Lucy, Pierre; till at last the two young naval gentlemen, her brothers, happened to arrive in Mrs. Tartan's drawing-room from their first cruise—a three years' one up the Mediterranean. They rather stared at Pierre, finding him on the sofa, and Lucy not very remote.
'Pray, be seated, gentlemen,' said Pierre. 'Plenty of room.'
'My darling brothers!' cried Lucy, embracing them.
'My darling brothers and sister!' cried Pierre, folding them together.
'Pray, hold off, sir,' said the elder brother, who had served as a passed midshipman for the last two weeks. The younger brother retreated a little, and clapped his hand upon his dirk, saying, 'Sir, we are from the Mediterranean. Sir, permit me to say, this is decidedly improper! Who may you be, sir?'
'I can't explain for joy,' cried Pierre, hilariously embracing them all again.
'Most extraordinary!' cried the elder brother, extricating his shirt-collar from the embrace, and pulling it up vehemently.
'Draw!' cried the younger, intrepidly.
'Peace, foolish fellows,' cried Lucy—'this is your old playfellow, Pierre Glendinning.'
'Pierre? why, Pierre?' cried the lads—'a hug all round again! You've grown a fathom!—who would have known you? But, then—Lucy? I say, Lucy?—what business have you here in this—eh? eh?—hugging-match, I should call it?'
'Oh! Lucy don't mean anything,' cried Pierre—'come, one more all round.'
So they all embraced again; and that evening it was publicly known that Pierre was to wed with Lucy.
Whereupon, the young officers took it upon themselves
