Budgets; and when he was at the War
Office she believed in his Intelligence Department; and now he is in the
Lords she believes in his pedigree, culled fresh from the Herald's
Office. Can faith go further?"

"'A perfect woman nobly planned,'" murmured Elisabeth.

"Precisely," continued Bobby,

"To rule the man who rules the land,
But yet a spirit still, and damp
With something from a spirit-lamp--

or however the thing goes. I don't always quote quite accurately, you
will perceive! I generally improve."

"I'm not sure that Lady Kesterton does believe in the pedigree," and
Elisabeth looked wise; "because she once went out of her way to assure
me that she did."

Lord Bobby groaned. "I beseech you to be careful, Miss Farringdon;
you'll never get that photograph if you keep forgetting yourself like
this!"

Elisabeth continued--

"If I were a man I should belong to the Herald's Office. It would be
such fun to be called a 'Red Bonnet' or a 'Green Griffin,' or some other
nice fairy-tale-ish name; and to make it one's business to unite divided
families, and to restore to deserving persons their long-lost
great-great-grandparents. Think of the unselfish joy one would feel in
saying to a worthy grocer, 'Here is your great-great-grandmother; take
her and be happy!' Or to a successful milliner, 'I have found your
mislaid grandfather; be a mother to him for the rest of your life!' It
would give one the most delicious, fairy-godmotherly sort of
satisfaction!"

"It would," Sir Wilfred agreed. "One would feel one's self a
philanthropist of the finest water."

"Thinking about almonds-and-raisins has made me feel hungry," exclaimed
Lady Silverhampton. "Let us have lunch! And while the servants are
laying the table, we had better get out of the boat and have a stroll.
It would be more amusing."

So the party wandered about for a while in couples through fields
bespangled with buttercups; and it happened--not unnaturally--that Cecil
and Elisabeth found themselves together.

"You are very quiet to-day," she said; "how is that? You are generally
such a chatty person, but to-day you out-silence the Sphinx."

"You know the reason."

"No; I don't. To my mind there is no reason on earth strong enough to
account for voluntary silence. So tell me."

"I am silent because I want to talk to you; and if I can't do that, I
don't want to talk at all. But among all these grand people you seem so
far away from me. Yesterd