"It's all very well in some things."

"Yes;--it's very well in some things."

"But there are things which a man must decide for himself."

"I suppose there are," said Sir Anthony, not venturing to think what
those things might be as regarded himself.

"Now, with reference to marrying--"

"I don't know what you want with marrying at all, Fred. You ought to
be very happy as you are. By heavens, I don't know any one who ought
to be happier. If I were you, I know--"

"But you see, sir, that's all settled."

"If it's all settled, I suppose there's an end of it."

"It's no good my mother nagging at one."

"My dear boy, she's been nagging at me, as you call it, for forty
years. That's her way. The best woman in the world, as we were
saying;--but that's her way. And it's the way with most of them. They
can do anything if they keep it up;--anything. The best thing is to
bear it if you've got it to bear. But why on earth you should go and
marry, seeing that you're not the eldest son, and that you've got
everything on earth that you want as a bachelor, I can't understand.
I can't indeed, Fred. By heaven, I can't!" Then Sir Anthony gave a
long sigh, and sat musing awhile, thinking of the club in London to
which he belonged, but which he never entered;--of the old days in
which he had been master of a bedroom near St. James's Street,--of
his old friends whom he never saw now, and of whom he never heard,
except as one and another, year after year, shuffled away from their
wives to that world in which there is no marrying or giving in
marriage. "Ah, well," he said, "I suppose we may as well go into
the drawing-room. If it is settled, I suppose it is settled. But it
really seems to me that your mother is trying to do the best she can
for you. It really does."

Captain Aylmer did not say anything to his mother that night as to
his going, but as he thought of his prospects in the solitude of his
bedroom, he felt really grateful to his father for the solicitude
which Sir Anthony had displayed on his behalf. It was not often
that he received paternal counsel, but now that it had come he
acknowledged its value. That Clara Amedroz was a self-willed woman he
thought that he was aware. She was self-reliant, at any rate,--and by
no means ready to succumb with that pretty feminine docility which he
would like to have seen her evince. He certainly would not wish to be
"nagged" by his wife. Indeed he knew himself well enough to assur