t the girl is a little ignoramus in reality. She
has read nothing, been nowhere, learned precious little; and she has no
more conversation than--than a Persian cat."

"That's a bad simile," said Owen calmly. "A Persian cat doesn't talk
much, I admit, but it is a most fascinating piece of mystery when it
sits still and says nothing. And Miss Gibbs may in reality be just as
mysterious."

"Oh, you're impossible!" Barry spoke impatiently, and Owen's manner
changed.

"Come, Barry, confess the truth. You're afraid Toni will jump at me--to
put it baldly. You know"--for a second he hesitated--"you know, Barry,
I'm not blind, and I can't help seeing that the girl has ... well, taken
a fancy to me; and if that is so, seeing that the woman I wanted
wouldn't have me, why shouldn't I offer myself to the one who ... would
perhaps take me if I asked her to?"

"You really mean to ask her, then?"

"Yes. I know you won't approve, old chap, but I'm going to do it all the
same. The girl may refuse me, you know, and then there'll be no harm
done."

And nothing could move him from the attitude he had adopted. The utmost
concession Barry could wring from him was a promise to wait for a week
at least before carrying out his plan; and during the whole of that week
Barry did his utmost to dissuade his friend from taking a step which he
foresaw would end in disaster.

He argued, cajoled, even thundered, in vain. He spoke of disparity of
tastes, of habits, of views on life in general; and Owen laughingly
reminded him that dissimilarity in tastes was supposed to be a good
foundation for wedded happiness.

He pointed out that although Antonia herself was a lady in the best
sense of the word, neither he nor Owen knew anything of her family; and
he endeavoured to alarm Rose by his vigorous sketch of her possibly
undesirable relations.

"I tell you the girl's an orphan," said Owen, smiling as Barry finished
painting an imaginary portrait of a very unattractive mother-in-law.
"She lives with an uncle and aunt and a family of cousins somewhere
Brixton way."

"Then I suppose the wedding will take place in Brixton," said Barry,
with an assumption of polite interest, and Owen coloured in spite of
himself.

"No--at least, not in a church. I can't face a regular wedding, Barry,
seeing my bride isn't the one I expected to lead to the altar. I think
the Registrar will have to tie the knot, and we'll dispense with all the
fuss of satins and veils