Jove. But the truth is, the lady in question isn't free to marry just
yet. There's a husband in the case--a feeble old Anglo-Indian, who can't
live very long. Don't look so glum, old fellow; there has been nothing
wrong, not a word that all the world might not hear; but there are signs
and tokens by which a man, without any vanity--and heaven knows I have no
justification for that--may be sure a woman likes him. In short, I
believe that if Adela Branston were a widow, the course would lie clear
before me, and I should have nothing to do but go in and win. And the
stakes will be worth winning, I assure you."

"But this Mr. Branston may live for an indefinite number of years, during
which you will be wasting your life on a shadow."

"Not very likely. Poor old Branston came home from Calcutta a confirmed
invalid, and I believe his sentence has been pronounced by all the
doctors. In the mean time he makes the best of life, has his good days
and bad days, and entertains a great deal of company at a delightful
place near Maidenhead--with a garden sloping to the river like that you
were talking of just now, only on a very extensive scale. You know how
often I have wanted you to run down there with me, and how there has been
always something to prevent your going."

"Yes, I remember. Rely upon it, I shall contrive to accept the next
invitation, come what may. But I can't say I like the idea of this
prospective kind of courtship, or that I consider it quite worthy of you,
Saltram."

"My dear Gilbert, when a fellow is burdened with debt and of a naturally
idle disposition, he is apt to take rather a liberal view of such means
of advancement in life as may present themselves to him. But there is no