your notion?"

His son looked about him vaguely, as though he expected to find his
ideal in some nook of the dim garden.

"What sort of a woman? Well, somebody like my cousin Mary, I suppose--an
easy-going person of that kind, who always looks pleasant and cool."

Morris did not see him, for he had turned his head away; but at the
mention of Mary Porson's name his father started, as though someone had
pricked him with a pin. But Colonel Monk had not commanded a regiment
with some success and been a military attache for nothing; having filled
diplomatic positions, public and private, in his time, he could keep
his countenance, and play his part when he chose. Indeed, did his
simpler-minded son but know it, all that evening he had been playing a
part.

"Oh! that's your style, is it?" he said. "Well, at your age I should
have preferred something a little different. But there is no accounting
for tastes; and after all, Mary is a beautiful woman, and clever in
her own way. By Jove! there's one o'clock striking, and I promised old
Charters that I would always be in bed by half-past eleven. Good night,
my boy. By the way, you remember that your uncle Porson is coming to
Seaview to-morrow from London, and that we are engaged to dine with him
at eight. Fancy a man who could build that pretentious monstrosity and
call it Seaview! Well, it will condemn him to the seventh generation;
but in this world one must take people as one finds them, and their
houses, too. Mind you lock the garden door when you come in. Good
night."