dest son, whose name had been coupled with that of a lady
whose professional aptitudes were described as those of a manicurist.
There was a moment when murder of a particularly atrocious and
internecine character seemed the only possible outcome to the
discussion--then Charles in a white fury found the door.

Before he had gone out of earshot Sir Peter asked Lionel what his father
would do if presented with a possible daughter-in-law so markedly frail?
Sir Peter seemed to be laboring under the delusion that he had been
weakly favorable to his son's inclinations, and that any other father
would have expressed himself more forcibly. Lionel was saved from the
awkwardness of disagreeing with him by an unexpected remark from Lady
Staines.

"A girl from some kind of a chemist's shop," she observed musingly. "I
fancy she's too good for Charles."

Sir Peter, who was fond of Charles, said the girl was probably not from
a chemist's shop; and described to the horror of the butler, who had
entered to prepare the tea-table, just what kind of a place she probably
was from.

Lady Staines looked at Winn, and said she didn't see that it was much
worse to marry a manicure girl than one who looked like a manequin. They
were neither of them types likely to do credit to the family. Winn
replied that, as far as that went, bad clothes and good morals did not
always go together. He was prepared apparently with an apt illustration,
when Isabella's husband, the Rev. Mr. Betchley, asked feebly if he might
go up-stairs to rest.

It was quite obvious to everybody that he needed it.

The next morning at breakfast the manicure girl was again discussed,
but in a veiled way so as not really to upset Charles before the
wedding.

Winn escaped immediately afterwards with Lionel. They went for a walk,
most of which was conducted in silence; finally, however, they found a
log, took out their pipes, and made themselves comfortable.

Lionel said, "I wish I'd seen Miss Fanshawe; it must be awfully jolly
for you, Winn."

Winn was silent for a minute or two, then he began, slowly gathering
impetus as he went on: "Well--yes, of course, in a sense it is. I mean,
I know I'm awfully lucky and all that, only--you see, old chap, I'm
frightfully ignorant of women. I know one sort of course--a jolly sight
better than you do--but girls! Hang it all, I don't know girls. That's
what worries me--she's such a little thing." He paused a moment. "I hope
it's all ri