hould indeed be very happy to hear that you've arranged to take a
wife."

"Mrs. Dallow has been so good as to say she'll marry me," Nick returned.

"That's very suitable. I should think it would answer."

"It's very jolly," said Nick. It was well Mr. Carteret was not what his
guest called observant, or he might have found a lower pitch in the
sound of this sentence than in the sense.

"Your dear father would have liked it."

"So my mother says."

"And _she_ must be delighted."

"Mrs. Dallow, do you mean?" Nick asked.

"I was thinking of your mother. But I don't exclude the charming lady. I
remember her as a little girl. I must have seen her at Windrush. Now I
understand the fine spirit with which she threw herself into your
canvass."

"It was her they elected," said Nick.

"I don't know," his host went on, "that I've ever been an enthusiast for
political women, but there's no doubt that in approaching the mass of
electors a graceful, affable manner, the manner of the real English
lady, is a force not to be despised."

"Julia's a real English lady and at the same time a very political
woman," Nick remarked.

"Isn't it rather in the family? I remember once going to see her mother
in town and finding the leaders of both parties sitting with her."

"My principal friend, of the others, is her brother Peter. I don't think
he troubles himself much about that sort of thing," said Nick.

"What does he trouble himself about?" Mr. Carteret asked with a certain
gravity.

"He's in the diplomatic service; he's a secretary in Paris."

"That may be serious," said the old man.

"He takes a great interest in the theatre. I suppose you'll say that may
be serious too," Nick laughed.

"Oh!"--and Mr. Carteret looked as if he scarcely understood. Then he
continued; "Well, it can't hurt you."

"It can't hurt me?"

"If Mrs. Dallow takes an interest in your interests."

"When a man's in my situation he feels as if nothing could hurt him."

"I'm very glad you're happy," said Mr. Carteret. He rested his mild eyes
on our young man, who had a sense of seeing in them for a moment the
faint ghost of an old story, the last strange flicker, as from cold
ashes, of a flame that had become the memory of a memory. This glimmer
of wonder and envy, the revelation of a life intensely celibate, was for
an instant infinitely touching. Nick had harboured a theory, suggested
by a vague allusion from his father, who had been discreet, th