"She grasps the ideas I present to her with astonishing quickness," answered his nephew, absently. "A very bright, eager mind. She has innate refinement and tact—for all her unconventional freedom of manner, which is only the outcome of her unconsciousness—and that is, after all, her particular charm, her unconsciousness. I catch a glimpse, now and then, of a certain wildness of spirit. I fear she would beat her wings against—certain fetters—unless—unless—well, it is most interesting to watch the phases of this young, tender nature—the product of a new civilization." "Thurston, who in the world are you talking about?" "Miss Stillwater, of course!" "I thought so. You were talking about the young one and I was talking about the old one. It’s very irritating—you’ve done that before." "When did I do it before? And be kind enough to explain who you mean by ’the old one’?" "Mrs. Bunker, of course." "Oh, Mrs. Bunker!" repeated Lord Canning, with a sarcastic intonation. "I presume I have the same right to talk about Miss Stillwater as you have to talk—about Mrs. Bunker, Uncle Nelson!" "No one’s disputing your right, but you’re continually talking about her!" "I wasn’t aware I monopolized the conversation to that degree." "Well, you do. You’re continually ’studying’ her and relating the results of your observations. I should think you would know her by heart before you left her." "Unfortunately, so far, I have not been allowed an opportunity for such extended knowledge. I’m rarely left alone with her long enough for a proper interchange of ideas. There are always so many plans and excursions on foot." "By George, you’re off with her all the time, somewhere!" "Not for long," said Lord Canning, gloomily. "Before one is aware, it’s lunch or dinner—meals are so interfering! What’s that?" Lord Stafford peered out of the window. They were sitting in his room, which was flooded with moonlight. "It’s that Masters fellow. He’s playing his mandolin on the lake. Fancy, at this hour!" They smoked for awhile in silence, listening. It was long after twelve. "We’re going on a moonlight picnic to the Falls to-morrow night." "Are we?" "So Mrs. Bunker told me. We drove there our first day here—don’t you remember?" Lord Canning looked at his uncle in utter contempt. "Do I remember? What a delightful day it was, that first day! And how many delightful days we have had since! Let me see. We have been here going on four weeks—is it possible?" "That poor chap," with an inclination of his head toward the lake, "seems awfully cut up about Miss Stillwater!" Lord Stafford watched his nephew closely. "Why don’t you retire and leave him the field? You may as well, you know, first as last." "I have no intention of doing it—first or last!" "The devil you haven’t!" "Uncle Nelson, I have made up my mind to marry Miss Stillwater!" "Good God! Your mother!"