for she believed that Thomas May must prove a spirit after Sir
Walter's heart. And so he did. The sailor was a gentleman; he
had proposed without the faintest notion to whom he offered his
penniless hand, and when he did find out, was so bewildered that
Mary assured her father she thought he would change his mind.

"If I had not threatened him with disgrace and breach of promise,
I do think he would have thrown me over," she said.

And now they had been wedded for six months, and Mary sat by the
great log fire with her hand in Tom's. The sailor was on leave,
but expected to return to his ship at Plymouth in a day or two.
Then his father-in-law had promised to visit the great cruiser, for
the Navy was a service of which he knew little. Lennoxes had all
been soldiers or clergymen since a great lawyer founded the race.

The game of billiards proceeded, and Henry caught his uncle in the
eighties and ran out with an unfinished fifteen. Then Ernest
Travers and his wife--old and dear friends of Sir Walter--played
a hundred up, the lady receiving half the game. Mr. Travers was a
Suffolk man, and had fagged for Sir Walter at Eton. Their
comradeship had lasted a lifetime, and no year passed without
reciprocal visits. Travers also looked at life with the eyes of a
wealthy man. He was sixty-five, pompous, large, and rubicund--a
"backwoodsman" of a pattern obsolescent. His wife, ten years
younger than himself, loved pleasure, but she had done more than
her duty, in her opinion, and borne him two sons and a daughter.
They were colorless, kind-hearted people who lived in a circle of
others like themselves. The war had sobered them, and at an early
stage robbed them of their younger boy.