fellow with his heart in the right place--? You
understand me?"

Franks rounded his eyes in amazement.

"But--am I to understand that she _expects_ it?"

"Not at all. She hasn't in the remotest way betrayed such a thought--be
assured of that. She isn't the sort of girl to do such a thing. It's
entirely my own thought."

The artist changed his seat, and for a moment wore a look of perturbed
reflection.

"How the deuce," he exclaimed, "can you come and talk to me like this
when you know I've as good as committed myself--?"

"Yes, and in a wobbling, half-hearted way which means you had no right
even to think of committing yourself. You care nothing about that other
girl--"

"You're mistaken. I care a good deal. In fact--"

"In fact," echoed Warburton with good-natured scorn, "so much that
you've all but made up your mind to go down to Southwold whilst she is
there! Bosh! You cared for one girl in a way you'll never care for
another."

"Well--perhaps--yes that may be true--"

"Of course it's true. If you don't marry _her_, go in for a prize
beauty or for an heiress or anything else that's brilliant. Think of
the scope before a man like you."

Franks smiled complacently once more.

"Why, that's true," he replied. "I was going to tell you about my
social adventures. Who do you think I've been chumming with? Sir Luke
Griffin--the great Sir Luke. He's asked me down to his place in
Leicestershire, and I think I shall go. He's really a very nice fellow.
I always imagined him loud, vulgar, the typical parvenu. Nothing of the
kind--no one would guess that he began life in a grocer's shop. Why, he
can talk quite decently about pictures, and really likes them."

Warburton listened with a chuckle.

"Has he daughters?"

"Three, and no son. The youngest, about seventeen, an uncommonly pretty
girl. Well, as you say, why shouldn't I marry her and a quarter of a
million? By Jove! I believe I could. She was here with her father
yesterday. I'm going to paint the three girls together. --Do you know,
Warburton, speaking without any foolish vanity, what astonishes me is
to think of the enormous choice of wives there is for a man of decent
appearance and breeding who succeeds in getting himself talked about.
Without a joke, I am convinced I know twenty girls, and more or less
nice girls, who would have me at once, if I asked them. I'm not a
conceited fellow--am I now? I shouldn't say this to any one else. I'm
simply convinc