you're talking about the future Mrs. Nevill Tyson?"

Stanistreet tried to keep calm, for he was poised on his waist across
the edge of the billiard-table. As it was, he lost his balance at the
critical moment, and it ruined his stroke. He looked at the cloth, then
at his cue, with the puzzled air which people generally affect in these
circumstances.

"Great Scott!" said he, "how did I manage that?"

The exclamation may or may not have referred to the stroke.

Tyson looked at his friend with a smile which suggested that he expected
adverse criticism, and was prepared to deal temperately with it.

"Why not?" said he.

Stanistreet, however, said nothing. He was absorbed in chalking the end
of his cue. His silence gave Tyson no chance; it left too much to the
imagination.

"Have you any objection?"

"Well, isn't the lady a little young for a fine old country gentleman
like yourself?"

Tyson's small blue eyes twinkled, for he prided himself on being able
to take a joke at his own expense. Still it was not exactly kind of
Stanistreet to remind him of his mushroom growth.

"Come," said Stanistreet, "you are a gentleman, you know. At any rate,
you're about the only fellow in these parts who can stand a frock-coat
and topper--that's the test. I saw Morley, your big man, going into
church yesterday, and he looked as if he'd just sneaked out of the City
on a 'bus. But you always knew how to dress yourself. The instinct is
hereditary."

Louis had just made a brilliant series of cannons, and was marking fifty
to his score. If he had not been so absorbed in his game, he would have
seen that Tyson was angry; and Tyson when he was angry was not at all
nice to see.

He made himself very stiff as he answered, "Whether I'm a gentleman or
not I can't say. It's an abstruse question. But I've got the girl on my
side, which is a point in my favor; I have the weighty support of my
mamma-in-law elect; and--the prejudices of papa I shall subdue by
degrees."

"By degrees? What degrees?" Again the question was unkind. It referred to
a phase of Tyson's university career which he least liked to look back
upon.

"And how about Mrs. Hathaway?"

"Damn Mrs. Hathaway," said Tyson.

"Poor lady, isn't she sufficiently damned already?"

The twinkle came back into Tyson's eyes, but there was gloom in the rest
of his face. The twinkle was lost upon Stanistreet. He knew too much; and
the awkward thing was that Tyson never could tell exa