it, George. Nothing
ever does interest you but boxing bouts, wrestling matches, golf and
books. Why don't you brace up and get into the swim? Why don't you
take the place that belongs to you among the young fellows of your own
station?"

"God forbid!" I answered fervently.

"Not jealous of Harry, are you? Not smitten at the very sound of the
lady's name,--like the young bloods, and the old ones, too, in the
city?"

"God forbid!" I replied again.

"Hang it all, can't you say anything more than that?" he asked testily.

"Oh, yes! dad,--lots," I answered, closing my book and keeping my
finger at the place. "For one thing--I have never met this Lady
Rosemary Granton; never even seen her picture--and, to tell you the
truth, from what I have heard of her, I have no immediate desire to
make the lady's acquaintance."

There was silence for a moment, and from my father's heavy breathing I
could gather that his temper was ruffling.

"Look here, you young barbarian, you revolutionary,--what do you mean?
What makes you talk in that way of one of the best and sweetest young
ladies in the country? I won't have it from you, sir, _this_ Lady
Rosemary Granton, _this_ Lady indeed."

"Oh! you know quite well, dad, what I mean," I continued, a little
bored. "Harry is no angel, and I doubt not but Lady Rosemary is by far
too good for him. But,--you know,--you cannot fail to have heard the
stories that are flying over the country of her cantrips;--some of
them, well, not exactly pleasant. And, allowing fifty percent for
exaggeration, there is still a lot that would be none the worse of
considerable discounting to her advantage."

"Tuts, tush and nonsense! Foolish talk most of it! The kind of stuff
that is garbled and gossiped about every popular woman. The girl is
up-to-date, modern, none of your drawing-room dolls. I admit that she
has go in her, vim, animal spirits, youthful exuberance and all that.
She may love sport and athletics, but, but,--you, yourself, spend most
of your time in pursuit of these same amusements. Why not she?"

"Why! father, these are the points I admire in her,--the only ones, I
may say. But, oh! what's the good of going over it all? I know, you
know,--everybody knows;--her flirtations, her affairs; every rake in
London tries to boast of his acquaintance with her and bandies her name
over his brandy and soda, and winks."

"Look here, George," put in my father angrily, "you forget yourse