they passed on, "when you have been deprived
of Miss Chyne's society, come and console yourself with a glass of
sherry."

The dutiful son nodded a semi-indifferent acquiescence and disappeared.

"Wonderful thing, sherry!" observed Sir John Meredith for his own
edification.

He waited there until Jack returned, and then they set off in search
of refreshment. The son seemed to know his whereabouts better than the
father.

"This way," he said, "through the conservatory."

Amidst the palms and tropical ferns Sir John paused. A great deal of
care had been devoted to this conservatory. Half hidden among languorous
scented flowers were a thousand tiny lights, while overhead in the
gloom towered graceful palms and bananas. A fountain murmured pleasantly
amidst a cluster of maidenhairs. The music from the ballroom fell softly
over all.

Sir John Meredith and his son stood in silence, looking around them.
Finally their eyes met.

"Are you in earnest with that girl?" asked Sir John abruptly.

"I am," replied Jack. He was smiling pleasantly.

"And you think there is a chance of her marrying you--unless, of course,
something better turns up?"

"With all due modesty I do."

Sir John's hand was at his mouth. He stood up his full six feet two and
looked hard at his son, whose eyes were level with his own. They were
ideal representatives of their school.

"And what do you propose marrying upon? She, I understand, has about
eight hundred a year. I respect you too much to suspect any foolish
notions of love in a cottage."

Jack Meredith made no reply. He was entirely dependent upon his father.

"Of course," said Sir John, "when I die you will be a baronet, and there
will be enough to live on like a gentleman. You had better tell Miss
Chyne that. She may not know it. Girls are so innocent. But I am not
dead yet, and I shall take especial care to live some time."

"In order to prevent my marriage?" suggested Jack. He was still smiling,
and somehow Sir John felt a little uneasy. He did not understand that
smile.

"Precisely so," he said, rather indistinctly.

"What is your objection?" inquired Jack Meredith, after a little pause.

"I object to the girl."

"Upon what grounds?"

"I should prefer you to marry a woman of heart."

"Heart?" repeated Jack, with a suspicion of hereditary cynicism. "I do
not think heart is of much consequence. Besides, in this case, surely
that is my province! you would not have her wear i