“You are very kind.” He gazed at the photograph as if loath to let it go. “There is no gift that would please me more—unless it were the original herself.” He dried his hands and paced the room, overcome by an unwonted nervousness. The Earl had apparently not noticed the latter part of his speech, for he went on toning the prints with imperturbability. Montella, however, intended him to notice it, and after stalking up and down for some minutes, decided to take the bull by the horns. “Lord Torrens,” he began, feeling more agitated than when he had given his maiden speech in the House, “I have come here to-night to ask you a question on the answer to which my whole life’s happiness depends. Since I have enjoyed the privilege of your friendship, I have learnt to know you and your daughter better than would have been possible in ordinary circumstances. I know that there are very few who are admitted to the intimacy of your home life as you have so kindly admitted me, and therefore I appreciate the privilege all the more. But to come to the point—I wish to speak of Lady Patricia. I have seen her constantly during the past year, and—and—” His flow of words suddenly broke down. “My lord, you are acquainted with my family, and I hope by now that you know something of me personally. Have I your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter?” The choice little speech he had prepared forsook his memory just when it was most needed; even in his own ears the statement of his desire sounded lame. The Earl turned round slowly, and regarded him fixedly; but the monosyllable “Eh?” was all he vouchsafed in reply. It is one of the most trying things in the world to have to repeat a difficult request. Montella began all over again, and gaining confidence, succeeded in giving an impassioned appeal. Lord Torrens listened with some little show of interest, because if there existed a tender spot in his heart, it was for his daughter Patricia; but he was inwardly longing to get back to his beloved prints. “I did not think you were the man to bother yourself about women,” he said at last, jerking out the words in his characteristic way. “If you take my advice, as a friend, you will stick to your Parliament and your politics; leave the women to those young fools whose chief vocation is to become ladies’ men. The farther you keep away from frills and furbelows, the better for yourself.” “You preach what you have not practised, Lord Torrens,” Lionel rejoined, with a smile. “I suppose that you were once in love?” The Earl gave an expressive gesture. “My dear fellow, I was no less susceptible than the rest; and my sweetheart—afterwards my wife, and Patricia’s mother—was a queen amongst women. But I sometimes wish that I had never crossed her path; for she managed to twine herself about my heart, became the chief delight of my life; and then—” “Then?” questioned Montella, filling up the pause.