Certain it was that there was no more of the old exultation about his
heart that had formed so large a part of his former courtship; there
were no extravagances, no quickened pulses--rapture's warmth had
yielded to the mildest of after-glows; but there was no reason that
it should not prove as satisfactory in the long run. It is an open
question whether the doctor, popular though he undoubtedly was, would
have been considered an eligible suitor from the maternal point of
view, had it not been that just about this time fortune elected to
bestow another favour upon him; his career had reached its apex, and
(again through sheer good luck, as John Chetwynd modestly declared)
he was offered a baronetcy.

Now, every man is flattered and gratified that his merits should be
recognised, and Chetwynd was no exception to the general rule, but
there were a good many bitters mingled with the sweets, and the
hidden thorn among the rose-leaves had a nasty trick of obtruding
itself. This step in social advancement materially helped his cause
with Lady Ethel, and the Duchess of Huddersfield deigned to smile
graciously upon her future son-in-law.

Ethel Claremont was an excellent girl, precisely the type he ought to
marry. Decorous, with an ease and repose about her manner that were
eminently patrician, she would be even more admirable as a wife than
as a _fiancée_, but he could have found it in him to wish that she
were just a little less faultless, a little more "human," he would
have said, only that the word has not a pleasant ring; yet it was not
easy to substitute another unless it were "womanly."

"Pshaw!" he cried angrily, "who am I that I should be exacting, with