everything in the world, this glorious place--an old
name--money--prestige--and if your inclinations do run to the material
side of things instead of the intellectual, they are still successful in
their demonstration. No one has a better eye for a horse, or is a finer
shot. The best at driven grouse for your age, my boy, I have ever seen.
You are full of force, Michael, and ought to do some decent
thing--instead of which you spoil the whole outlook by fooling after
this infernal woman--and you have not now the pluck to cut the Gordian
knot. She will drag you to the lowest depths----"

Then he laughed. "And only think of that voice in one's ears all day
long! I would rather marry old Bessie at the South Lodge. She is
eighty-four, she tells me, and would soon leave you a widower."

The first ray of hope shot into Michael's bright blue eyes--and he
exclaimed with a kind of joy, as he seized Binko, his bulldog, by his
fat, engaging throat:

"Bessie! Old Bessie--By Jove, what an idea!--the very thing. She'd do it
for me like a shot, dear old body!"

Binko gurgled and slobbered in sympathy.

"She would be kind to you, too, Binko. She would not say she found your
hairs on every chair, and that you dribbled on her dress! She would not
tell your master that he left his cigarette-ash about, and she hated the
smell of smoke! She would not want this room for her boudoir, she----"

Then he stopped his flow of words, suddenly catching sight of the
whimsical, sardonic smile upon his friend's face.