kind of man (you must feel it yourself)
that I can allow my female relatives to have anything to do with. I hate
saying this, St. Ives; it looks like hitting a man when he's down, you
know; and I told the Major I very much disliked it from the first.
However, it had to be said; and now it has been, and, between gentlemen,
it shouldn't be necessary to refer to it again."

"It's compromising; it doesn't lead to anything; not the kind of man," I
repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe I understand, and shall make
haste to put myself _en regle_." I stood up and laid my segar down. "Mr.
Gilchrist," said I, with a bow, "in answer to your very natural
observations, I beg to offer myself as a suitor for your sister's hand.
I am a man of title, of which we think lightly in France, but of ancient
lineage, which is everywhere prized. I can display thirty-two
quarterings without a blot. My expectations are certainly above the
average: I believe my uncle's income averages about thirty thousand
pounds, though I admit I was not careful to inform myself. Put it
anywhere between fifteen and fifty thousand; it is certainly not less."

"All this is very easy to say," said Ronald, with a pitying smile.
"Unfortunately, these things are in the air."

"Pardon me--in Buckinghamshire," said I, smiling.

"Well, what I mean is, my dear St. Ives, that you _can't prove_ them,"
he continued. "They might just as well not be: do you follow me? You
can't bring us any third party to back you up."

"O, come!" cried I, springing up and hurrying to the table. "You must
excuse me!" I wrote Romaine's address. "There is my reference, Mr.
Gilchrist. Until you have written to him, and received his negative
answer, I have a right to be treated, and I shall see that you treat me,
as a gentleman."

He was brought up with a round turn at that. "I beg your pardon, St.
Ives," said he. "Believe me, I had no wish to be offensive. But there's
the difficulty of this affair; I can't make any of my points without
offence! You must excuse me, it's not my fault. But, at any rate, you
must see for yourself this proposal of marriage is--is merely
impossible, my dear fellow. It's nonsense! Our countries are at war; you
are a prisoner."

"My ancestor of the time of the Ligue," I replied, "married a Huguenot
lady out of the Saintonge, riding two hundred miles through an enemy's
country to bring off his bride; and it was a happy marriage."

"Well," he began; and then looke