with it," and he caught
his daughter's face between his hands and turned it toward his for a
moment. "I wonder now," said he, in meditative wise, "if Billy will
consider that a drawback?"

It seemed very improbable. Any number of marriageable males would have
sworn it was unthinkable.

However, "Of course," Margaret began, in a crisp voice, "if you advise
Mr. Woods to marry me as a good speculation--"

But her father caught her up, with a whistle. "Eh?" said he. "Love in
a cottage?--is it thus the poet turns his lay? That's damn' nonsense!
I tell you, even in a cottage the plumber's bill has to be paid, and
the grocer's little account settled every month. Yes, by gad, and
even if you elect to live on bread and cheese and kisses, you'll find
Camembert a bit more to your taste than Sweitzer."

"But I don't want to marry anybody, you ridiculous old dear," said
Margaret.

"Oh, very well," said the old gentleman; "don't. Be an old maid, and
lecture before the Mothers' Club, if you like. I don't care. Anyhow,
you meet Billy to-day at twelve-forty-five. You will?--that's a good
child. Now run along and tell the menagerie I'll be down-stairs as
soon as I've finished dressing."

And the Colonel rang for his man and proceeded to finish his toilet.
He seemed a thought absent-minded this morning.

"I say, Wilkins," he questioned, after a little. "Ever read any of
Ouida's books?"

"Ho, yes, sir," said Wilkins; "Miss 'Enderson--Mrs. 'Aggage's maid,
that his, sir--was reading haloud hout hof 'Hunder Two Flags' honly
last hevening, sir."

"H'm--Wilkins--if you can run across one of them in the servants'
quarters--you might leave it--by my bed--to-night."

"Yes, sir."

"And--h'm, Wilkins--you can put it under that book of Herbert
Spencer's my daughter gave me yesterday. _Under_ it, Wilkins--and,
h'm, Wilkins--you needn't mention it to anybody. Ouida ain't cultured,
Wilkins, but she's damn' good reading. I suppose that's why she ain't
cultured, Wilkins."

III

And now let us go back a little. In a word, let us utilise the next
twenty minutes--during which Miss Hugonin drives to the neighbouring
railway station, in, if you press me, not the most pleasant state of
mind conceivable--by explaining a thought more fully the posture of
affairs at Selwoode on the May morning that starts our story.

And to do this I must commence with the nature of the man who founded
Selwoode.

It was when the nineteenth century was st