Three or four days afterwards Sir Thomas asked whether Ayala was to come to Glenbogie. “She positively refused,” said his wife, and was so rude and impertinent that I could not possibly have her now.” Then Sir Thomas frowned and turned himself away, and said not a word further on that occasion.

There were many candidates for Glenbogie on this occasion. Among others there was Mr Frank Houston, whose candidature was not pressed by himself — as could not well have been done — but was enforced by Gertrude on his behalf. It was now July. Gertrude and Mr Houston had seen something of each other in Rome, as may be remembered, and since then had seen a good deal of each other in town. Gertrude was perfectly well aware that Mr Houston was impecunious; but Augusta had been allowed to have an impecunious lover, and Tom to throw himself at the feet of an impecunious love. Gertrude felt herself to be entitled to her ￡120,000; did not for a moment doubt but that she would get it. Why shouldn’t she give it to any young man she liked as long as he belonged to decent people? Mr Houston wasn’t a Member of Parliament — but then he was young and good-looking. Mr Houston wasn’t son to a lord, but he was brother to a county squire, and came of a family much older than that of those stupid Boardotrade and Traffick people. And then Frank Houston was very presentable, was not at all bald, and was just the man for a girl to like as a husband. It was dinned into her ears that Houston had no income at all — just a few hundreds a year on which he never could keep himself out of debt. But he was a generous man, who would be more than contented with the income coming from ￡120,000. He would not spunge upon the house at Queen’s Gate. He would not make use of Merle Park and Glenbogie. He would have a house of his own for his old boots. Four-percent. would give them nearly ￡5,000 a year. Gertrude knew all about it already. They could have a nice house near Queen’s Gate — say somewhere about Onslow Gardens. There would be quite enough for a carriage, for three months upon a mountain in Switzerland, and three more among the art treasures of Italy. It was astonishing how completely Gertrude had it all at her finger’s ends when she discussed the matter with her mother. Mr Houston was a man of no expensive tastes. He didn’t want to hunt. He did shoot, no doubt, and perhaps a little shooting at Glenbogie might be nice before they went to Switzerland. In that case two months on the top of the mountain would suffice. But if he was not asked he would never condescend to demand an entry at Glenbogie as a part of his wife’s dower. Lady Tringle was thus talked over, though she did think that at least one of her daughter’s husbands ought to have an income of his own. There was another point which Gertrude put forward very frankly, and which no doubt had weight with her mother. “Mamma, I mean to have him,” she said, when Lady Tringle expressed a doubt.

“But papa?”

“I mean to have him. Papa can scold, of course, if he pleases.”

“But where would the income come from if papa did not give it?”

“Of course he’ll give it. I’ve a right to it as much as Augusta.” There was something in Gertrude’s face as she said this which made her mother think that she would have her way.

But Sir Thomas had hitherto declined. When Frank Houston, after the manner of would-be sons-in-law, had applied to Sir Thomas, Sir Thomas, who already knew all about it, asked after his income, his prospects, and his occupation. Fifty years ago young men used to encounter the misery of such questions, and to live afterwards often in the enjoyment of the stern questioner’s money and daughters. But there used in those days to be a bad quarter of an hour while the questions were being asked, and not unfrequently a bad six months afterwards, while the stern questioner was gradually undergoing a softening process under the hands of the females of the family. But the young man of today has no bad quarter of an hour. “You are a mercantile old brick with money and a daughter. I am a jeunesse dorée — gilded by blood and fashion, though so utterly impecunious! Let us know your terms. How much is it to be, and then I can say whether we can afford to live upon it.” The old brick surrenders himself more readily and speedily to the latter than to the former manner — but he hardly surrenders himself quite at once. Frank Houston, when inquired into, declared at once, without blushing, that he had no income at all to speak of in reference to matrimonial life. As to family prospects he had none. His elder brother had four blooming boys, and was likely to have more. As for occupation, he was very fond of painting, very fond of art all round, could shoot a little, and was never in want of anything to do as long as he had a book. But for the earning of money he had no turn whatever. He was quite sure of himself that he could never earn a shilling. But then on the other hand he was not extravagant — which was almost as good as earning. It was almost incredible; but with his means, limited as they were to a few hundreds, he did not owe above a thousand pounds — a fact which he thought would weigh much with Sir Thomas in regard to his daughter’s future happiness.

Sir Thomas gave him a flat refusal. “I think that I may boast that your daughter’s happiness is in my charge,” said Frank Houston.

“Then she must be unhappy,” said Sir Thomas. Houston shrugged his shoulders. “A fool like that has no right to be happy.”

“There isn’t another man in the world by whom I would allow her to be spoken of like that,” said Houston.

“Bother!”

“I regard her as all that is perfect in woman, and you must forgive me if I say that I shall not abandon my suit. I may be allowed, at any rate, to call at the house?”

“Certainly not.”

“That is a kind of thing that is never done nowadays — never,” said Houston, shaking his head.

“I suppose my own house is my own.”

“Yours and Lady Tringle’s, and your daughters’, no doubt. At any rate, Sir Thomas, you will think of this again. I am sure you will think of it again. If you find that your daughter’s happiness depends upon it — ”

“I shall find nothing of the kind. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Sir Thomas.” Then Mr Houston, bowing graciously, left the little back room in Lombard Street, and, jumping into a cab had himself taken straight away to Queen’s Gate.

“Papa is always like that,” said Gertrude. On that day Mrs Traffick, with all the boots, had taken herself away to the small house in Mayfair, and Gertrude, with her mother, had the house to herself. At the present moment Lady Tringle was elsewhere, so that the young lady was alone with her lover.

“But he comes round, I suppose.”

“If he doesn’t have too much to eat — which disagrees with him — he does. He’s always better down at Glenbogie because he’s out of doors a good deal, and then he can digest things.”

“Then take him down to Glenbogie and let him digest it at once.”

“Of course we can’t go till the 12th. Perhaps we shall start on the 10th, because the 11th is Sunday. What will you do, Frank?” There had been a whisper of Frank’s going to the Tyrol in August, there to join the Mudbury Docimers, who were his far-away cousins. Imogene Docimer was a young lady of marvellous beauty — not possessed indeed of ￡120,000 — of whom Gertrude had heard, and was already anxious that her Frank should not go to the Tyrol this year. She was already aware that her Frank had — just an artist’s eye for feminine beauty in its various shapes, and thought that in the present condition of things he would be better at Glenbogie than in the Tyrol.

“I am thinking of wandering away somewhere — perhaps to the Tyrol. The Mudbury Docimers are there. He’s a pal of mine, besides being a cousin. Mrs Docimer is a very nice woman.”

“And her sister?”

“A lovely creature. Such a turn of the neck! I’ve promised to make a study of her back head.”

“Come down to Glenbogie,” said Gertrude, sternly.

“How can I do that when your governor won’t let me enter his house door even in London?”

“But you’re here.”

“Well — yes — I am here. But he told me not. I don’t see how I’m to drive in at the gate at Glenbogie with all my traps, and ask to be shown my room. I have cheek enough for a good deal, my pet.”

“I believe you have, Sir — cheek enough for anything. But mamma must manage it — mamma and me, between us. Only keep yourself disengaged. You won’t go to the Tyrol — eh?” Then Frank Houston promised that he would not go to the Tyrol as long as there was a chance open that he might be invited to Glenbogie.

“I won’t hear of it,” said Sir Thomas to his wife. On that occasion his digestion had perhaps failed him a little. “He only wants to get my money.”

“But Gertrude has set her heart on it, and nothing will turn her away.”

“Why can’t she set her heart on someone who has got a decent income? That man hasn’............