ould say that
she _has_ married well.'

'She told _you_?' smiled Lyon's neighbour.

'Oh, of course I proposed to her too. But she evidently thinks so
herself!' he added.

When the ladies left the table the host as usual bade the gentlemen draw
together, so that Lyon found himself opposite to Colonel Capadose. The
conversation was mainly about the 'run,' for it had apparently been a
great day in the hunting-field. Most of the gentlemen communicated their
adventures and opinions, but Colonel Capadose's pleasant voice was the
most audible in the chorus. It was a bright and fresh but masculine
organ, just such a voice as, to Lyon's sense, such a 'fine man' ought to
have had. It appeared from his remarks that he was a very straight
rider, which was also very much what Lyon would have expected. Not that
he swaggered, for his allusions were very quietly and casually made; but
they were all too dangerous experiments and close shaves. Lyon perceived
after a little that the attention paid by the company to the Colonel's
remarks was not in direct relation to the interest they seemed to offer;
the result of which was that the speaker, who noticed that _he_ at least
was listening, began to treat him as his particular auditor and to fix
his eyes on him as he talked. Lyon had nothing to do but to look
sympathetic and assent--Colonel Capadose appeared to take so much
sympathy and assent for granted. A neighbouring squire had had an
accident; he had come a cropper in an awkward place--just at the
finish--with consequences that looked grave. He had struck his head; he
remained insensible, up to the last accounts: there had evidently been
concussion of the brain. There was some exchange of views as to his
recovery--how soon it would take place or whether it would take place at
all; which led the Colonel to confide to our artist across the table
that _he_ shouldn't despair of a fellow even if he didn't come round for
weeks--for weeks and weeks and weeks--for months, almost for years. He
leaned forward; Lyon leaned forward to listen, and Colonel Capadose
mentioned that he knew from personal experience that there was really no
limit to the time one might lie unconscious without being any the worse
for it. It had happened to him in Ireland, years before; he had been
pitched out of a dogcart, had turned a sheer somersault and landed on
his head. They thought he was dead, but he wasn't; they carried him
first to the nearest cabin, where he l