that he wanted to marry.

The trouble with Dolly Ingram was her mother. Her mother was a
really terrible person. She was quite impossible. She was a social
leader, and of such importance that visiting princes and society
reporters, even among themselves, did not laugh at her. Her
visiting list was so small that she did not keep a social
secretary, but, it was said, wrote her invitations herself.
Stylites on his pillar was less exclusive. Nor did he take his
exalted but lonely position with less sense of humor. When Ingram
died and left her many millions to dispose of absolutely as she
pleased, even to the allowance she should give their daughter, he
left her with but one ambition unfulfilled. That was to marry her
Dolly to an English duke. Hungarian princes, French marquises,
Italian counts, German barons, Mrs. Ingram could not see. Her
son-in-law must be a duke. She had her eyes on two, one somewhat
shopworn, and the other a bankrupt; and in training, she had one
just coming of age. Already she saw her self a sort of a dowager
duchess by marriage, discussing with real dowager duchesses the way
to bring up teething earls and viscounts. For three years in Europe
Mrs.Ingram had been drilling her daughter for the part she intended
her to play. But, on returning to her native land, Dolly, who
possessed all the feelings, thrills, and heart-throbs of which her
mother was ignorant, ungratefully fell deeply in love with
Champneys Carter, and he with her. It was always a question of
controversy between them as to which had first fallen in love with
the other. As a matter of history, honors were even.

He first saw her during a thunder storm, in the paddock at the
races, wearing a rain-coat with the collar turned up and a Panama