eresting fellow. So, if you
will put up with my acid tongue, there's no reason why we shouldn't hit
it off."

To Sir William's great astonishment, Ian held out his hand with a genial
smile, which was tolerably honest, for his indulgent nature was as
capable of great geniality as incapable of high moral conceptions. Then,
he had before his eye, "Monmouth" and "The King of Ys."

Gaston took his hand, and said: "I have no wish to be an enemy."

Sir William rose, looking at them both. He could not understand Ian's
attitude, and he distrusted. Yet peace was better than war. Ian's truce
was also based on a belief that Gaston would make skittles of things. A
little while afterwards Gaston sat in his room, turning over events
in his mind. Time and again his thoughts returned to the one
thing--marriage. That marriage with his Esquimaux wife had been in one
sense none at all, for the end was sure from the beginning. It was
in keeping with his youth, the circumstances, the life, it had no
responsibilities. But this? To become an integral part of the life--the
English country gentleman; to be reduced, diluted, to the needs of the
convention, and no more? Let him think of the details:--a justice of
the peace: to sit on a board of directors; to be, perhaps, Master of the
Hounds; to unite with the Bishop in restoring the cathedral; to make
an address at the annual flower show. His wife to open bazaars, give
tennis-parties, and be patron to the clergy; himself at last, no doubt,
to go into Parliament; to feel the petty, or serious, responsibilities
of a husband and a landlord. Monotony, extreme decorum, civility to
the world; endless politeness to his wife; with boys at Eton and girls
somewhere else; and the kind of man he must be to do his duty in all and
to all!

It seemed impossible. He rose and paced the floor. Never till this
moment had the full picture of his new life come close. He felt
stifled. He put on a cap, and, descending the stairs, went out into
the court-yard and walked about, the cool air refreshing him. Gradually
there settled upon him a stoic acceptance of the conditions. But would
it last?

He stood still and looked at the pile of buildings before him; then he
turned towards the little church close by, whose spire and roof could be
seen above the wall. He waved his hand, as when within it on the day of
his coming, and said with irony:

"Now for the marriage-linen, Sir Gaston!"

He heard a low knocking at th