suppose I shall go abroad with Julia and George in the spring,
and end by taking an orthodox wife some day; somebody with blue blood,
and pretension, and nothing else. My people will be happy, and the
family name will be safe."

"And what will become of her?"

"O, she's all right. She won't break her heart about me. She isn't that
sort of girl," Tom Caruthers said gloomily. "Do you know, I admire her
immensely, Philip! I believe she's good enough for anything. Maybe
she's too good. That's what her aunt hinted."

"Her aunt! Who's she?"

"She's a sort of a snapping turtle. A good sort of woman, too. I took
counsel with her, do you know, when I found it was no use for me to try
to see Lois. I asked her if she would stand my friend. She was as sharp
as a fish-hook, and about as ugly a customer; and she as good as told
me to go about my business."

"Did she give reasons for such advice?"

"O yes! She saw through Julia and mother as well as I did; and she
spoke as any friend of Lois would, who had a little pride about her. I
can't blame her."

Silence fell again, and lasted while the two young men walked the
length of several blocks. Then Mr. Dillwyn began again.

"Tom, there ought to be no more shilly-shallying about this matter."

"No _more!_ Yes, you're right. I ought to have settled it long ago,
before Julia and mother got hold of it. That's where I made a mistake."

"And you think it too late?"

Tom hesitated. "It's too late. I've lost my time. _She_ has given me
up, and mother and Julia have set their hearts that I should give her
up. I am not a match for them. Is a man ever a match for a woman, do
you think, Dillwyn, if she takes something seriously in hand?"

"Will you go to Europe next spring?"

"Perhaps. I suppose so."

"If you do, perhaps I will join the party--that is, if you will all let
me."

So the conversation went over into another channel.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN.

Two or three evenings after this, Philip Dillwyn was taking his way
down the Avenue, not up it. He followed it down to nearly its lower
termination, and turned up into Clinton Place, where he presently run
up the steps of a respectable but rather dingy house, rang the bell,
and asked for Mrs. Barclay.

The room where he awaited her was one of those dismal places, a public
parlour in a boarding-house of second or third rank. Respectable, but
forlorn. Nothing was ragged or untidy, but nothing either h