ght back again, and finally starved to death at his
father's gates--Lord Talgarth found himself in a chair, with Jenny
seated opposite, and the rest of the company gone to dinner. He did not
quite realize how it had all been brought about, nor by whose
arrangement it was that a plate of soup and some fish were to come
presently, and Jenny and he to dine together.

He pulled himself together a little, however, and began to use phrases
again about his "graceless son," and "the young villain," and "not a
penny of his." (He was, of course, genuinely angry; that must be
understood.)

Then Jenny began to talk.

"I think, you know," she said quietly, "that you aren't going the right
way to work. (It's very impertinent of me, isn't it?--but you did say
just now you wanted to hear what I thought.)"

"Of course I do; of course I do. You're a sensible girl, my dear. I've
always said that. But as for this young--"

"Well, let me say what I think. (Yes, put the soup down here, will you.
Is that right, Lord Talgarth?)." She waited till the man was gone again
and the old man had taken up his spoon. Then she took up her own. "Well,
I think what you've done is exactly the thing to make Frank more
obstinate than ever. You see, I know him very well. Now, if you'd only
laughed at him and patted his head, so to speak, from the beginning, and
told him you thought it an excellent thing for a boy of his character,
who wants looking after--"

Lord Talgarth glared at her. He was still breathing rather heavily, and
was making something of a noise over his soup.

"But how can I say that, when I think--"

"Oh! you can't say it now, of course; it's too late. No; that would
never do. You must keep it up--only you mustn't be really angry. Why not
try a little cold severity?"

She looked so charming and humorous that the old man began to melt a
little. He glanced up at her once or twice under his heavy eyebrows.

"I wonder what you'll do," he said with a kind of gruffness, "when you
find you've got to marry a pauper?"

"I shan't have to marry a pauper," said Jenny. "That wouldn't do
either."

"Oh! you're counting on that eight hundred a year still, are you?"

Jenny allowed a little coldness to appear on her face. Rude banter was
all very well, but it mustn't go too far. (Secretly she allowed to
herself sometimes that this old man had elements of the cad in his
character.)

"That's entirely my own affair," she said, "and Frank's."

L