the still darker road which passes along the wooded glen by the mills,
and skirts the little paling of the recluse lady's garden.

They had not walked far, when Lake suddenly said--

'What do you think of all this, Radie--this particular version, I mean,
of marriage, _a-la-mode_, they are preparing up there?' and he made a
little dip of his cane towards Brandon Hall, over his shoulder. 'I really
don't think Wylder cares twopence about her, or she about him,' and
Stanley Lake laughed gently and sleepily.

'I don't think they pretend to like one another. It is quite understood.
It was all, you know, old Lady Chelford's arrangement: and Dorcas is so
supine, I believe she would allow herself to be given away by anyone, and
to anyone, rather than be at the least trouble. She provokes me.'

'But I thought she liked Sir Harry Bracton: he's a good-looking fellow;
and Queen's Bracton is a very nice thing, you know.'

'Yes, so they said; but that would, I think, have been worse. Something
may be made of Mark Wylder. He has some sense and caution, has not
he?--but Sir Harry is wickedness itself!'

'Why--what has Sir Harry done? That is the way you women run away with
things! If a fellow's been a little bit wild, he's Beelzebub at once.
Bracton's a very good fellow, I can assure you.'

The fact is, Captain Lake, an accomplished player, made a pretty little
revenue of Sir Harry's billiards, which were wild and noisy; and liking
his money, thought he liked himself--a confusion not uncommon.