s my income from all sources?" suggested Lightmark rather
flippantly. "Well, I have to confess that my profession, in which I
am said to be rising, brings me in about four hundred and fifty a
year, in addition to which I have a private income, which amounts
to, say, three hundred; total, seven hundred and fifty." Then,
seeing that Charles looked grave, he played his trump card: "And I
ought to add that my uncle, the Colonel, you know, has been good
enough to talk about making me an allowance, on my marrying with his
approval. In fact he is, I believe, prepared to make a settlement on
my marriage with your sister."

Charles Sylvester pronounced himself provisionally satisfied, and it
was arranged that he should communicate with Colonel Lightmark, and
that meanwhile the engagement should not be made public.

Eve was standing on the little balcony, appertaining to the
sitting-room which had been dedicated to the ladies as a special
mark of favour by the proprietor of the _pension_, and Lightmark
hastened to join her there; and while Charles and his mother played
a long game of chess, the two looked out at the line of moonlit
Alps, and were sentimentally and absurdly happy.

"Mrs. Sylvester," said Lightmark, when that lady thought it
advisable to warn her daughter that there was a cold wind blowing
off the lake, "we have arranged that a certain portrait shall figure
in the Academy catalogue next spring as 'Portrait of the Artist's
Wife.'"

After which Mrs. Sylvester began to call him Richard, and Charles
became oppressively genial: a development which led the embarrassed
recipient of these honours to console himself by reflecting that,
after all, he was not going to marry the entire family.

"_Ma cherie_," said Lady Garnett, as the Paris train steamed out of
Lucerne on the afternoon of the next day but one, "do you know that
I feel a sensation of positive relief at getting away from those
people? Eve is very _gentille_, but lovers are _so_ uninteresting, when
they are properly engaged; and the excellent Charles! My child, I am
afraid you have been very cruel."

"Cruel, aunt?" said Mary, with a demure look of astonishment. "I
like Eve very much, and I suppose Mr. Lightmark must be nice,
because he's such a friend of Philip's. But I don't quite like the
way he talks about Philip, and ... he's very clever."

"Yes," said the old lady drowsily; "he's cleverer than Philip."

"He may be cleverer, but----" Mary began with