‘What a strange thing it seems,’ said Ilfracombe afterwards to Castelton, as they were smoking together on the poop, ‘that men and women see with such different eyes! I should have thought Jack Portland would have been an universal favourite with the beau sexe. He’s a fine, manly, good-looking chap, with any amount of brains; and yet Lady Ilfracombe, who really admires our sex more than her own--a regular man’s woman she is, as any man, I think, would admit--can’t see anything, apparently, to like in him. It is incredible to me! I shall make a point of bringing them together as soon as we are settled at Thistlemere.’ ‘Lady Ilfracombe is so thoroughly charming in every respect,’ replied Castelton, with admirable tact, ‘that I should feel inclined to trust her judgment before my own. It is not at all necessary that a man and his wife should have the same friends, or so I take it. That would entail a great deal of irksome duty on your part, paid to women whom, perhaps, you did not like. Mr Jack Portland is bound to get his full dues from so perfect a hostess as Lady Ilfracombe, without thrusting his company continually on her. And between ourselves, old fellow, I really think his conversation and ideas are more fit for the stables than the drawing-room.’ ‘No, no! I won’t have you say that,’ cried the loyal earl. ‘Jack’s a gentleman, and no man can be more. My wife will learn to like him for my sake. Castelton, old chap! why don’t you get married? It’s the loveliest experience in the world. Don’t believe all the humbug people talk on the subject. Only try it, and you’ll agree with me.’ ‘Perhaps I might and perhaps I mightn’t, my boy,’ replied his companion. ‘I expect matrimony depends a great deal on the woman, and we can’t all expect to draw a prize. You’ve drawn the lucky number, Ilfracombe, and I might get a blank; so rest satisfied with your _coup de main_, and don’t persuade your friends to come a cropper in hopes of clearing the thorny fence as you have. But I congratulate you, old fellow. I never saw a man so spooney in all my life; and it must really be a delicious sensation when the object is your own wife, and not that of some other man. By the way, now we are quite alone, may I ask you what has become of Miss Llewellyn?’ The earl looked round to see what his wife was doing before he replied, in a low tone,-- ‘Oh! that’s all right, old boy. I’ve pensioned her off handsomely, and she has gone back to her friends.’ Castelton opened his eyes. ‘Really! I shouldn’t have thought she was that sort of woman.’ ‘What do you mean by “that sort of woman”?’ ‘No offence, old chappie, be sure of that. No one admired her more than I did. I think she is, without exception, the most beautiful creature I ever saw, and as good as she is beautiful. But I fancied she was too much attached to you to accept a pension.’