s
me of a rat. But Beatrice is handsome enough, though I think her horrid
too. You'll have to console yourself with her, and I daresay you will
suit each other."

"Why do you think her horrid, Honoria?"

"Oh, I don't know; she is clever and odd, and I hate odd women. Why
can't they be like other people? Think of her being strong enough
to save your life like that too. She must have the muscle of an
Amazon--it's downright unwomanly. But there is no doubt about her
beauty. She is as nearly perfect as any girl I ever saw, though too
independent looking. If only one had a daughter like that, how one might
marry her. I would not look at anything under twenty thousand a year.
She is too good for that lumbering Welsh squire she's engaged too--the
man who lives in the Castle--though they say that he is fairly rich."

"Engaged," said Geoffrey, "how do you know that she is engaged?"

"Oh, I don't know it at all, but I suppose she is. If she isn't, she
soon will be, for a girl in that position is not likely to throw such
a chance away. At any rate, he's head over ears in love with her. I saw
that last night. He was hanging about for hours in the rain, outside
the door, with a face like a ghost, till he knew whether she was dead or
alive, and he has been there twice to inquire this morning. Mr. Granger
told me. But she is too good for him from a business point of view. She
might marry anybody, if only she were put in the way of it."

Somehow, Geoffrey's lively interest in Beatrice sensibly declined on the
receipt of this intelligence. Of course it was nothing to him; indeed
he was glad to hear that she was in the way of such a comfortable
settlement, but it is unfortunately a fact that one cannot be quite as
much interested in a young and lovely lady who is the potential property
of a "lumbering Welsh squire," as in one who belongs to herself.

The old Adam still survives in most men, however right-thinking they may
be, and this is one of its methods of self-assertion.

"Well," he said, "I am glad to hear she is in such a good way; she
deserves it. I think the Welsh squire is in luck; Miss Granger is a
remarkable woman."

"Too remarkable by half," said Lady Honoria drily. "Here we are, and
there is Effie, skipping about like a wild thing as usual. I think that
child is demented."

On the following morning--it was Friday--Lady Honoria, accompanied by
Anne, departed in the very best of tempers. For the next three weeks,
at