"You will never marry, so you may as well make up your mind to it," said Mrs. Courtenay, who was already revolving an entirely new idea in her mind, which cast Lord Hemsworth completely into the shade. "If you are so fond of looking at the future, you had better amuse yourself by picturing yourself as a penniless old maid." "I wish there was something one could be between an old maid and a married woman," said Di. "I think if I had my choice I would be a widow." Mrs. Courtenay, somewhat propitiated by her new idea, gave her silent but visible laugh, and Di went on-- "What do you think of John Tempest, granny? He is so black that talking of widows reminded me of him." Mrs. Courtenay sustained a slight nervous shock. "I had not much conversation with him," she said, stifling a slight yawn. "I am glad to see him back in England. Remind me to ask him next time we have a dinner-party." "He looks clever," said Di. "Ugly men sometimes do. It is a way they have." "It does not matter how ugly a man is if he looks like a gentleman." "Not a bit," said Di. "I am only sorry he looks as if he had been cut out with a blunt pair of scissors because he is a Tempest, and Tempests ought to be handsome to keep up the family traditions. Look at the old man in Westminster Abbey. I am proud of his nose whenever I look at it. I wish the present head of the family had kept a firmer hold on that feature, that is all; and, it being a hook, I should have thought he might easily have done so. I think it is a want of good taste to bring the Fane features so prominently to Overleigh, don't you? Archie represents the looks of the family certainly, and so do I, granny, though I believe you fondly imagine I am not aware of it. But it does not matter so much what we look like, as it does with the head of the family." "The family has got a head to it for the first time for two generations," remarked Mrs. Courtenay, closing the conversation by putting on her respirator. * * * * * As Lord Hemsworth turned away from putting Mrs. Courtenay and Di into their carriage he saw John coming down the steps. "Still here?" he said. "I thought you had gone hours ago." "It is a fine night," said John, who did not think it necessary to say that he _was_ still there; "I think I shall walk." "So will I," replied Lord Hemsworth, and they went out together. John and Lord Hemsworth had known each other since the Eton days, and had that sort of quiet liking for each other which has the germ of friendship in it, which circumstances may eventually quicken or destroy. As they turned into Whitehall a hansom, one of many, passed them at a foot's pace, with its usual civil interrogatory, "Cab, sir?"