"Ah yes, the party," murmured Mrs. Sylvester sympathetically; "of course that is the great thing. I am sure you will distinguish yourself. I suppose there is no danger of a defeat?" "Oh, it is a safe seat! But one has always to canvass; there is always a certain risk. I sometimes wish----" He stopped short, pulled nervously at his collar, finding it a little difficult to express his meaning. "I think," he went on at last with a visible effort, flushing somewhat, "that I must marry. An intelligent woman devoted to my interests would be of great service to me now." Mrs. Sylvester allowed her eyes to remain in discreet observation of the tablecloth. "I have often thought so," she said at last quietly. "Indeed!" he remarked politely. "Yes; it is a matter, perhaps, which I should have discussed with you before. I am fully aware of the right you have---- I would not, I mean, have failed----" "Oh, my son!" she protested, "I am sure you have always been most correct." "I have tried to be," he said simply. "If I have said nothing to you, it has been because I wished to be cautious, not to commit myself, to be very sure----" "Of the lady's affection, do you mean?" "Ah, can one ever be sure of that? No; I mean rather of my own attitude, of my own situation. It has always seemed to me that marriage is a very great undertaking, a thing to be immensely considered, not to be embarked on rashly." "You view everything so justly!" she exclaimed. "Have you--am I to understand that you have a particular person in view?" He waved aside the compliment with a bland gesture, which asserted that only his magnanimity prevented him from acknowledging its truth. "Surely, surely!" he said. "You are perhaps aware how immensely I admire Miss Masters; that I have paid her very great attention--marked attention, I may say?" "I observed something of the kind at Lucerne. I did not know if it had continued; sometimes I thought so. Have you proposed to her?" "No," he said slowly; "I have not yet proposed to her. Naturally, I wished to consult you first." "I am sure, Charles," said his mother cheerfully, "that I shall be extremely pleased. She is a very nice girl. She is a great-niece of Lord Hazelbury, and connected with the Marshes, and I know she will have at least sixty thousand pounds." He glanced across at her, frowning a little, with a certain irritation. "I shall not marry her for her money," he said. "My dear boy," she retaliated, "I did not suppose you would be mercenary; only, a little money is very desirable; and Lady Garnett has a great deal, and Mary will certainly get her share of it." "Ah, I don't like her," put in Charles inconsequently; "she is a profane old woman." "Neither do I; but one must accept her. And Mary, after all, is only her niece." "She has a beautiful character," he continued slowly. (This time he was not speaking of Lady Garnett.) "I admire it more than I can say; it has very great depths."