trying to augment his inclination. He was too busy to analyze the real
meaning of any woman, and until the Professor's words about the divorce
and the Misses La Sarthe's view of the affair, it had never even struck
him that there could be one single aspect of Mrs. Cricklander's case
which he might have to blink at. He had told himself he had better marry
a rich woman, since his old maternal uncle, Joseph Scroope, had just
taken unto himself a young wife and might any day have an heir. And this
was his only other possible source of fortune.

Mrs. Cricklander seemed the most advantageous bargain looming upon the
horizon. She was of proved entertaining capabilities. She had passed her
examination in the power of being a perfect hostess. She had undoubted
and expanding social talents. Women did not dislike her; she was very
vivid, very handsome, very rich. What more could a man who in his
innermost being had a supreme contempt for women, and a supreme belief
in himself, desire?

He had even balanced the advantages of marrying a rich American girl,
one like Miss Lutworth, for example. But such beings were unproven, and
might develop nerves and fads, which were of no consequence in the
delightful creatures with whom he passed occasional leisure hours of
recreation, but which in a wife would be a singular disadvantage. Since
he must marry--and soon--before the present Parliament broke up and his
Government went out, and there came some years of fighting from the
Opposition benches, when especially brilliant entertaining might be of
advantage to him--he knew he had better make up his mind speedily, and
take this ripe and luscious peach, which appeared more than willing to
drop into his mouth.

So, this late afternoon, aided by the scents and colors and propinquity,