gre, mal gre_, there is a big part in the world's social
business to be played?

And meanwhile, with a fraction of her mind, she went on talking
"Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff." She did the honours of half their
possessions. Then it suddenly seemed to her that the time was long, and
she led the way back once more to the drawing-room, in a rather
formidable silence, of which even her cheerful companion became aware.

But as they entered the room, the door at the farther end opened again,
and Tatham and Lydia emerged.

Good heavens!--had he been proposing already? But a glance dispelled
the notion. Lydia was laughing as they came in, and a little flushed,
as though with argument. It seemed to his mother that Harry's look, on
the other hand, was overcast. Had the girl been trampling on him?
Impossible! In any case, there was no denying the quiet ease, the
complete self-possession, with which the "inexperienced" one moved
through Harry's domain, and took leave of Harry's mother. Your modern
girl?--of the intellectual sort--quite unmoved by gewgaws! Minx!

Harry saw the two ladies into their pony-carriage. When he returned to
his mother, it was with an absent brow. He went to the window and stood
softly whistling, with his hands in his pockets. Lady Tatham waited a
little, then went up to him, and took him by the arms--her eyes smiling
into his, without a word.

He disengaged himself, almost roughly.

"I wish I knew something about art!" he said discontentedly. "And why
should anybody want to be independent all their lives--economically
independent?"

He slowly repeated the words, evidently from another mouth, in a land of
wonder.

"That's the young woman of to-day, Harry."

"Isn't it better to be happy?" he broke out, and then was silent.

"Harry!--you didn't propose to her?"

He laughed out.

"Propose to her! As if I dare! I haven't even made friends with her
yet--though I thought I had. She talks of things I don't understand."

"Not philosophy and stuff?"

"Lord, no!" he said, shrugging his shoulders. "It's much worse. It's as
though she despised--" He paused again.

"Courting?" said his mother at last, her head against his shoulder.

"Well, anything of that sort, in comparison with art--and making a
career--and earning money--and things of that kind. Oh, I daresay I'm a
stupid ass!--"

Lady Tatham laughed softly.

"You can buy all her pictures, Harry."

"I don't believe she'd like it a bit, if