Charlotte crossed her hands before her.

'I may be a Liberal and a lion-hunter,' she said firmly, 'but I have
still conscience enough left not to aid and abet my nephew in throwing
himself away.'

She had nearly slipped in 'again;' but just saved herself.

'Your conscience is all a matter of the Duke,' he told her. 'Well,
if you won't help me, then Helen and I will have to arrange it by
ourselves.'

But this did not suit Lady Charlotte at all. She had always played
the part of earthly providence to this particular nephew, and it was
abominable to her that the wretch, having refused for ten years to
provide her with a love affair to manage, should now manage one for
himself, in spite of her.

'You are such an arbitrary creature!' she said fretfully: 'you prance
about the world like Don Quixote, and expect me to play Sancho without a
murmur.'

'How many drubbings have I brought you yet?' he asked her, laughing. He
was really very fond of her. 'It is true there is a point of likeness;
I won't take your advice. But then why don't you give me better? It is
strange,' he added, musing; 'women talk to us about love as if we were
too gross to understand it; and when they come to business, and they're
not in it themselves, they show the temper of attorneys.'

'Love!' cried Lady Charlotte, nettled. 'Do you mean to tell me, Hugh,
that you are really, seriously in love with that girl?'

'Well, I only know,' he said, thrusting his hands far into his pockets,
'that unless things mend I shall go out to California in the autumn and
try ranching.'

Lady Charlotte burst into an angry laugh. He stood opposite to her, with
his orchid in his buttonhole, himself the fine flower of civilization.
Ranching, indeed! However, he had done so many odd things in his life,
that, as she knew, it was never quite safe to decline to take him
seriously, and he looked at her now so defiantly, his clear greenish
eyes so wide open and alert, that her will began to waver under the
pressure of his.

'What do you want me to do, sir?'

His glance relaxed at once, and he laughingly explained to her that what
he asked of her was to keep the prey in sight.

'I can do nothing for myself at present,' he said; 'I get on her nerves.
She was in love with that black-haired _enfant du siecle_,--or rather,
she prefers to assume that she was--and I haven't given her time to
forget him. A serious blunder, and I deserve to suffer for it. Very
well, then, I reti