which--though he would never have admitted it--Sir Philip Brabazon inferred
a kind of divinely appointed dictatorship over the souls and bodies of the
various members of his household which even included the right to arrange
and determine their lives for them, without reference to their personal
desires and tastes.

It was odd, therefore, that his chief friend and confidante--and the
woman he would have married thirty years ago if she would only have had
him--should be Lady Susan, as tolerant and modern in her outlook as he
was archaic.

She was a tall, sturdily built woman of the out-of-door, squiress type. Her
fine-shaped head was crowned by a wealth of grey hair, simply coiled in a
big knot on the nape of her neck and contrasting rather attractively with
her very black, arched eyebrows and humorous dark eyes. Those same eyes
were now regarding Sir Philip with a quizzical expression of amusement.

"Besides," she pursued. "Ann wouldn't have half as much pull with him if
she _were_ his wife, let me tell you."

"You think not?"

"I'm sure. A man will let himself be lectured and generally licked into
shape by the woman he wants to marry--but after marriage he usually prefers
to do all the lecturing that's required himself."

The old man shot a swift glance at her from under a pair of shaggy brows.

"How do you know?" he demanded rudely. "You're not married."