or his children. He was very
amiable." Soames uttered a rather queer sound. A suspicion of the old
deep truth--that men were judged in this world rather by what they were
than by what they did--crept and knocked resentfully at the back doors of
his mind.

"I know there was a superstition to that effect," he muttered.

"One must do him justice now he's dead."

"I should like to have done him justice before," said Soames; "but I
never had the chance. Have you got a 'Baronetage' here?"

"Yes; in that bottom row."

Soames took out a fat red book, and ran over the leaves.

"Mont-Sir Lawrence, 9th Bt., cr. 1620, e. s. of Geoffrey, 8th Bt., and
Lavinia, daur. of Sir Charles Muskham, Bt., of Muskham Hall, Shrops:
marr. 1890 Emily, daur. of Conway Charwell, Esq., of Condaford Grange,
co. Oxon; 1 son, heir Michael Conway, b. 1895, 2 daurs. Residence:
Lippinghall Manor, Folwell, Bucks. Clubs: Snooks': Coffee House:
Aeroplane. See BidIicott."

"H'm!" he said. "Did you ever know a publisher?"

"Uncle Timothy."

"Alive, I mean."

"Monty knew one at his Club. He brought him here to dinner once. Monty
was always thinking of writing a book, you know, about how to make money
on the turf. He tried to interest that man."

"Well?"

"He put him on to a horse--for the Two Thousand. We didn't see him
again. He was rather smart, if I remember."

"Did it win?"

"No; it ran last, I think. You know Monty really was quite clever in his
way."

"Was he?" said Soames. "Can you see any connection between a sucking
baronet and publishing?"

"People do all sorts of things nowadays," replied Winifred. "The great
stunt seems not to be idle--so different from our time. To do nothing
was the thing then. But I suppose it'll come again."

"This young Mont that I'm speaking of is very sweet on Fleur. If it
would put an end to that other affair I might encourage it."

"Has he got style?" asked Winifred.

"He's no beauty; pleasant enough, with some scattered brains. There's a
good deal of land, I believe. He seems genuinely attached. But I don't
know."

"No," murmured Winifred; "it's--very difficult. I always found it best
to do nothing. It is such a bore about Jack; now we shan't get away till
after Bank Holiday. Well, the people are always amusing, I shall go into
the Park and watch them."

"If I were you," said Soames, "I should have a country cottage, and be
out of the way of holidays and strikes when you want