“You must spend a lot on your clothes.” “I do. Why not? I have money to burn. _A tout à l’heure._” She waved her hand and departed. * * * * * Lionel sat on under the trees, gazing at the lengthening shadows as they stole across the velvety lawn, and letting his thoughts project themselves into the future. No man likes to think that he is being pursued by a woman, however charming she may be. But such a probability didn’t occur to him. His father was wiser in such matters. Lionel accepted Margot’s advice as impersonal. And she had not been “primed” by the squire. The pair, such a contrast to each other in most respects, happened to think alike, independently and sincerely, upon a subject which they had not discussed together. What would it mean to him, if he captured Margot? For the first time he thought of her not as the wife chosen for him by a fond and ambitious sire, but as _the woman_ chosen by himself out of all the world. Any man might be proud to possess a creature so distinguished, so sought after, so attractive physically and mentally. Other men would envy him. In the regiment his pals would congratulate him warmly on “landing” a big “fish.” No young fellow is independent of public opinion, least of all an old Etonian, a subaltern in a crack corps. Men he knew had been caught by enterprising spinsters in India, swishing tempestuous petticoats of the wrong cut. He remembered what was said at mess concerning such matches. Fordingbridge had gone a “mucker.” Young Ocknell, too, the silly ass, had married a second-rate actress. And Ocknell Manor was offered for sale in _Country Life_! He heard the clock in the stable-yard strike a quarter to eight. The short cut to his room lay through the shrubberies, and a side door not far from the pantry. He happened to be wearing tennis shoes. As he approached the side door, he saw Prudence and Alfred. Their faces might have been three inches apart, not more. Prudence giggled and flitted indoors. Alfred stood his ground, grinning sheepishly. “Very close out here,” said Lionel. Alfred assented, adding nervously— “’Ee won’t tell tales out o’ school, Master Lionel, will ’ee? ’Tis as much as my place be worth, if Squire caught Prue an’ me mumbud-gettin’, he be so tarr’ble set on eugannicks.” “Trust me,” smiled Lionel. “The Squire will come round, Alfred. I said a word to him, as I promised, but I spoke too soon. Don’t worry! By George, you _are_ a lucky fellow. Prue is a little dear. And you both looked as happy as larks. I say, I shall be late for dinner.” He rushed into the house, followed more leisurely by Alfred, still grinning.