of this success himself, and knew its thinness of
flavour--its fleeting value.

Behind his keen old eyes such thoughts as these were passing, while he
watched Jack go up and claim his dance at the hands of Miss Millicent
Chyne. He could almost guess what they said; for Jack was grave and she
smiled demurely. They began dancing at once, and as soon as the floor
became crowded they disappeared.

Jack Meredith was an adept at such matters. He knew a seat at the end
of a long passage where they could sit, the beheld of all beholders
who happened to pass; but no one could possibly overhear their
conversation--no one could surprise them. It was essentially a
strategical position.

"Well," inquired Jack, with a peculiar breathlessness, when they were
seated, "have you thought about it?"

She gave a little nod.

They seemed to be taking up some conversation at a point where it had
been dropped on a previous occasion.

"And?" he inquired suavely. The society polish was very thickly coated
over the man; but his eyes had a hungry look.

By way of reply her gloved hand crept out towards his, which rested on
the chair at his side.

"Jack!" she whispered; and that was all.

It was very prettily done, and quite naturally. He was a judge of such
matters, and appreciated the girlish simplicity of the action.

He took the small gloved hand and pressed it lovingly. The thoroughness
of his social training prevented any further display of affection.

"Thank Heaven!" he murmured.

They were essentially of the nineteenth century--these two. At a
previous dance he had asked her to marry him; she had deferred her
answer, and now she had given it. These little matters are all a
question of taste. We do not kneel nowadays, either physically or
morally. If we are a trifle off hand, it is the women who are to blame.
They should not write in magazines of a doubtful reputation in language
devoid of the benefit of the doubt. They are equal to us. Bien! One
does not kneel to an equal. A better writer than any of us says that men
serve women kneeling, and when they get to their feet they go away. We
are being hauled up to our feet now.

"But--?" began the girl, and went no further.

"But what?"

"There will be difficulties."

"No doubt," he answered, with quiet mockery. "There always are. I will
see to them. Difficulties are not without a certain advantage. They keep
one on the alert."

"Your father," said the girl. "Sir John--he