way line, with a pallor of sour bog-grasses in
the hollows. The outlook was uncheerful. Perhaps it was that which
caused the young man to shake his head.

"I recognize the brilliancy of the conception, Louisa. It reflects
credit upon your imagination and--your daring," he said presently. "But
you won't be able to work it."

"Pray why not?" almost snapped Lady Louisa.

Mr. Quayle settled himself back in his corner again. His handsome face
was all sweetness, indulgent though argumentative. He was nothing,
clearly, unless reasonable.

"Personally, I am extremely fond of Dickie Calmady," he began. "I
permit myself--honestly I do--moments of enthusiasm regarding him. I
should esteem the woman lucky who married him. Yet I could imagine a
prejudice might exist in some minds--minds of a less emancipated and
finely comprehensive order than yours and my own of course--against
such an alliance. Take my father's mind, for instance--and unhappily my
father dotes on Connie. And he is more obstinate than nineteen
dozen--well, I leave you to fill in the comparison mentally, Louisa. It
might be slightly wanting in filial respect to put it into words."

Again he shook his head in pensive solemnity.

"I give you credit for prodigious push and tenacity, for a remarkable
capacity of generalship, in short. Yet I cannot disguise from myself
the certainty that you would never square my father."

"But suppose she wishes it herself. Papa would deny Connie nothing,"
the other objected. She was obliged to raise her voice to a point of
shrillness, hardly compatible with the dignity of the noble house of
Fallowfeild, _double_ with all the gold of all the Barkings, for the
train was banging over the points and roaring between the platforms of
a local junction. Mr. Quayle made a deprecating gesture, put his hands
over his ears, and again gently shook his head, intimating that no
person possessed either of nerves or self-respect could be expected to
carry on a conversation under existing conditions. Lady Louisa
desisted. But, as soon as the train passed into the comparative quiet
of the open country, she took up her parable again, and took it up in a
tone of authority.

"Of course I admit there is something to get over. It would be
ridiculous not to admit that. And I am always determined to be
perfectly straightforward. I detest humbug of any kind. So I do not
deny for a moment that there is something. Still it would be a very
good marriage f