"I had a pressing correspondence to-day, Lord Canning," said Stillwater, emerging upon the balcony. His wife put her hand on his shoulder. "Father! Father!" "Well, mother, what is it?" "Lord Canning wants to marry Indy?" "Does he?" asked Stillwater, composedly. "Too bad—too bad." His wife sighed heavily, and was on the point of leaving them, when Lord Canning took her hand, looking sympathetically into her eyes. "Why not stay and help me out?" "Oh, I really must go—Indy’s waiting for me. I never let anyone do anything for her. I always lay out her dresses, and brush her hair, and wait on her. She gets cross if I don’t—and I love to do it." "You don’t approve of me, Mrs. Stillwater?" "I do," she answered, tremulously. "I like you very much—you’re such a nice, modest man for your position. Will you—" she hesitated, he still held her hand, looking inquiringly into her eyes, "will you wait a while and think it over before you ask Indy?" "I have waited and thought it over well," replied Lord Canning, in a very decided tone. "I know this is very unusual, but, for the life of me, I couldn’t ask a young woman to marry me until I was sure I would be acceptable to her parents." "You are, you are," assured Mrs. Stillwater, quickly, "but it will be a great trial to lose her—that’s what I was thinking of—only that." The tears rushed to her eyes. She turned and mounted the stairs, hastily. "Mother is naturally upset when she thinks of Indy getting married," said Stillwater, who had been gravely listening. "Naturally," agreed Lord Canning. "Suppose we walk down to the lake," he added, with an Englishman’s dislike of being overheard. "Marrying young runs in our family," remarked Stillwater, as they descended the steps. "My wife was sixteen, when she married, and grandma only fifteen. There’s always somebody turning up, wanting to marry Indiana. But she’s never been serious about anyone, I’m happy to say." Lord Canning looked meditatively upon the ground, pushing, with the tip of his shoe, the thick layer of pine needles. Finally he looked up, smiling. "If I could make her serious about me, would you object?" "Why should I?" asked Stillwater, dryly. "I don’t have to live with you." "Oh, no," replied Lord Canning, accepting the remark in a serious sense, "there’s no possible necessity for it." Stillwater gave an involuntary chuckle, and, seating himself on a rustic bench built between two trees, offered his would-be son-in-law a cigar. "I ought to feel very much honored, Lord Canning, but I haven’t reached that stage of imperialism, although my mother-in-law is a fiend on that subject. American women generally are. They’re natural imperialists. They head a despotic monarchy at home." He laughed heartily, while his guest surveyed him gravely, lighting his cigar. "Mr. Stillwater, I hope you do not consider my title against me?"