“I should think so: the things that draw, recite, and play the fiddle, and rush about to lectures. I am getting a bit too old for that kind of young animal. I'd sooner spend a week with the wife of a camel driver than with any one of them. She would be just as intelligent, somewhat funnier, and the advantage would be that you could lick her into shape without alarming absurd prejudices. No; the drawing-room young lady is distinctly 'off,' just as much as the over-emancipated.” “Well, what kind of a young woman are you looking out for?” “I never look out for anything, my dear Caroline. I take what comes--if it pleases me.” “Then I hope Clytie will please you, Thornton. She is quite different from any other girl I know. And it's just her little airs of emancipation that give her charm, I wish there were more like her.” “So do I, by Jove! There would be some pleasure in looking around a theatre or a ball-room.” “Yet I should think that was rather a relief after Central Africa.” Thornton broke into a gay laugh. “Unsophisticated woman has her good points, you know!” “Um!” said Farquharson, pulling at his pipe. They chatted for a little while longer. Then Hammerdyke pulled out his watch. “I must go and dress for dinner.” “Oh, by the way, Thornton,” said Caroline, “did you not tell me you had an appointment at six? I hope we haven't kept you from it.” “Oh, yes,” he replied cheerfully as he gathered up his hat and stick. “It's only Field. I dare say he's waiting for me now. I shan't turn up at the club, though. He can rip. When he is tired of kicking his heels and drinking small whiskeys he can curse the waiter and go. I must be off now. Let me know when Clytie is on view again and I'll throw over anybody.” Mrs. Farquharson smiled indulgently. In her eyes there was no one like Thornton. “Thornton is a bit of an egotist,” said George mildly to his wife, later in the evening, when they were alone together. He was not addicted to the hyperbolic, like Caroline. “Oh, but, George, he is such a dear good fellow--and such a splendid man!” “'Quem sese ore ferens! quam forti pectore et armis!'” murmured her husband. Now George Farquharson knew that if there was one thing his wife disliked it was that he should quote Latin at her. It generally occasioned a distraction. If it failed, he translated. The effects of that were certain. This time Mrs. Farquharson was content to allow his remark to remain “veiled in the obscurity of a learned language.” CHAPTER XII. I do wish you would cheer up, old chap,” said Wither sympathetically. “You are getting uncomfortable--like Mr. Mantalini's body, in the midst of our joyousness.”