nd shining light of
the English law. People speak of you as a future Chancellor. How can you
contemplate an alliance with the widow of one criminal and the daughter
of another?"

"As to Margaret being Oliver Hilditch's widow," Francis replied, "you
were responsible for that, and no one else. He was your protege; you
gave your consent to the marriage. As to your being her father, that
again is not Margaret's fault. I should marry her if Oliver Hilditch had
been three times the villain he was, and if you were the Devil himself."

"I am getting quite to like you, Mr. Ledsam," Sir Timothy declared,
helping himself to another piece of toast and commencing to butter it.
"Margaret, what have you to say about all this?"

"I have nothing to say," she answered. "Francis is speaking for me. I
never dreamed that after what I have gone through I should be able to
care for any one again in this world. I do care, and I am very happy
about it. All last night I lay awake, making up my mind to run away,
and this morning I actually booked my passage to Buenos Ayres. Then we
met--just outside the steamship office--and I knew at once that I was
making a mistake. I shall marry Francis exactly when he wants me to."

Sir Timothy passed his glass towards his proposed son-in-law.

"Might one suggest," he began--"thank you very much. This is of course
very upsetting to me. I seem to be set completely at defiance. It is a
very excellent wine, this, and a wonderful vintage."

Francis bent over Margaret.

"Please finish your lunch, dear," he begged. "It is perhaps just as well
that your father came. We shall know exactly where we are."

"Just so," Sir Timothy agreed.

There was a queer constrained silence for several moments. Then Sir
Timothy leaned back in his chair and with a word of apology lit a
cigarette.

"Let us," he said, "consider the situation. Margaret is my daughter. You
wish to marry her. Margaret is of age and has been married before. She
is at liberty, therefore, to make her own choice. You agree with me so
far?"

"Entirely," Francis assented.

"It happens," Sir Timothy went on, "that I disapprove of her choice. She
desires to marry a young man who belongs to a profession which I detest,
and whose efforts in life are directed towards the extermination of a
class of people for whom I have every sympathy. To me he represents
the smug as against the human, the artificially moral as against the
freethinker. He is also my pe