Dale, having got the Roberts family off his mind, drifted to another topic. "I say, Phil, old chap, will you stop playing the fool for once, and give me your advice?" "What about?" asked Philip, throwing himself into an armchair. "What," said Dale gravely, filling his pipe, "do you think about getting married?" "Are you thinking of it?" "Discuss marriage in the abstract." "It is a position of greater responsibility and less freedom." "Yes, I know that. But a lot depends on the girl, doesn't it?" "I expect so." "I say, Phil, what do you think of Ripley?" "He seemed a decent enough fellow." "Do you think--I mean, do you call him an attractive fellow?" "Oh, uncommonly!" "Really?" "Well, why not?" Dale fidgeted in his chair, and relit the pipe, which had gone out. He was much too perturbed to give to the filling of it the attention that operation needs. "I suppose he'll be rich, and a swell, and all that," he went on. "No doubt--but not a Victorian poet." "Don't be a fool!" "I meant it kindly. Some girls like poets." "They were awfully kind about 'Amor Patriæ' at the Grange to-night." "Oh, you've been there?" "You know I have. Ripley was there. I don't think I care much about him, Phil." "Don't you? Does he like you?" Dale laughed as he rose to go to bed. "Not much, I think," said he. Philip also, being left companionless, got up and knocked out his pipe. Then he stood looking into the dying embers for a minute or two, and thinking, as he warmed his hands with the last of the heat. "Poor little Nellie!" he said. After a pause, he said it again; and once again after that. But then, as saying it was no use at all, he sighed and went to bed. CHAPTER XIV. =Mr. Delane Likes the Idea.=