"Ah!" cried Grizel deeply, and chuckled with reminiscent enjoyment. "Just so. There _was_ one, a bold one, who questioned her point blank on her intentions. He lived; he came out of the room alive, but that was as much as one could say. He got the best dressing down of _his_ life, but that was all he did get. And he didn't trouble me any more." "Cur! But they were not all so mercenary?" "No." Grizel looked thoughtful once more. "Certainly not. I like men. They are nice things; not really mercenary unless they're obliged. But it's a difficult position to saddle yourself with a wife who _may_ turn out a colossal heiress, or on the other hand--a pauper! It complicates the position, and in one way or other is pretty well bound to lead to trouble. The man who would appreciate the one, is bound to object to t'other, and it's such a contrary world, that the t'other it would almost certainly be... When you are making a choice for life, you ought to understand where you are. You see, Martin," she turned towards him with a smile, "it would not _be fair_!" "And--" he said hoarsely, "was _that_ the reason why you never--?" Grizel put her head on one side, and stared thoughtfully into the blaze. "Partly. Mostly. Yes! And my old Buddy. She won't live long, and I owe her so much. But mostly the idea of playing the game. Most of the men I have met have positions to maintain, and expect their wives to lend a hand. They can't afford a love marriage, and I'm proud in my own little way. I shouldn't like to turn out a disappointment." "There are some men who are old-fashioned enough to prefer to provide for their own wives, who would dread the fortune even more heartily than others do the lack of it." "There are. I realise that. Bless their dear hearts! But _not_ the majority! There's an heir to a Dukedom hovering round now, Martin; not compromising himself, you understand, but by steady attention to business laying the foundation of a claim. If the old Buddy died and left me her heir, he'd tell me that he had forborne to _intrude_, had valiantly subdued his impatience, etc., etc., I never want the money quite so badly as when I imagine that interview! I'm not spiteful as a rule, but I shall think fate treats me hardly if I never have a chance of scorching that young man... Well! we'll see--!" "You want then,--you will be disappointed if you don't get the money?" She turned her eyes full upon him, distended in the widest of stares. "Well, I should just _farther_ think I _should_! T-errifically disappointed! Squelched. Flum-macked. Laid out flat. For the hour, that is. I couldn't go on being worried, for all the fortunes on earth. It will be a case of adapting myself to a new sort of happiness--_c'est tout_! That's easily done." The joy of the lover, the keen, appraising interest of the artist, were both eloquent in Martin's glance as he considered her eloquent face.