eing a trifle too scrupulous in love: and a fortnight back she would
have imagined he had no chance; and now she knew that the chance was
excellent in those days, with this revelation in Diana's letter, which
said that all chance was over.

'The courtship of a woman,' he droned away, 'is in my mind not fair to
her until a man has to the full enough to sanction his asking her
to marry him. And if he throws all he possesses on a stake... to win
her--give her what she has a right to claim, he ought.... Only at
present the prospect seems good.... He ought of course to wait. Well,
the value of the stock I hold has doubled, and it increases. I am a
careful watcher of the market. I have friends--brokers and railway
Directors. I can rely on them.'

'Pray,' interposed Lady Dunstane, 'specify--I am rather in a mist--the
exact point upon which you do me the honour to consult me.' She
ridiculed herself for having imagined that such a man would come to
consult her upon a point of business.

'It is,' he replied, 'this: whether, as affairs now stand with me--I
have an income from my office, and personal property... say between
thirteen and fourteen hundred a year to start with--whether you think me
justified in asking a lady to share my lot?'

'Why not? But will you name the lady?'

'Then I may write at once? In your judgement.... Yes, the lady. I have
not named her. I had no right. Besides, the general question first, in
fairness to the petitioner. You might reasonably stipulate for more for
a friend. She could make a match, as you have said...' he muttered of
'brilliant,' and 'the highest'; and his humbleness of the honest man
enamoured touched Lady Dunstane. She saw him now as the man of strength
that she would have selected from a thousand suitors to guide her dear
friend.

She caught at a straw: 'Tell me, it is not Diana?'

'Diana Merion!'

As soon as he had said it he perceived pity, and he drew himself tight
for the stroke. 'She's in love with some one?'

'She is engaged.'

He bore it well. He was a big-chested fellow, and that excruciating
twist within of the revolution of the wheels of the brain snapping their
course to grind the contrary to that of the heart, was revealed in
one short lift and gasp, a compression of the tremendous change he
underwent.

'Why did you not speak before?' said Lady Dunstane. Her words were
tremulous.

'I should have had no justification!'

'You might have won her!' She could hav