"Oh, not at all, not at all," smoking, in a very comfortable position. "It might help you with Indiana. It would be a new fad for her. You know we all have our fads. It’s a good thing for us, too. Personally I like you. I like you very much. But—er—" he hesitated, studying the lake. There was plainly something on his mind which he considered should be said. Finally he rose, placing his hand kindly on Lord Canning’s shoulder. "I want to give you a quiet piece of advice, and if you don’t take it I want you to consider it as never having been said—will you?" "I will, sir," said Lord Canning, gravely. "Don’t marry my daughter!" "Why?" "It’ll never pan out. Your ways are not her ways; her thoughts and your thoughts are as far apart as—as if she spoke Chinese and you Pennsylvania Dutch." "Mr. Stillwater, I am not easily frightened. The more difficulties I encounter, the more determined I am to win." "Now, don’t misunderstand me," added Stillwater, quickly. "My daughter’s no worse than any other man’s daughter—women, as women, are all all alike. But we understand and know how to get along with them. I married very young, and I continued to live with my wife, my mother-in-law, and my daughter, all different dispositions, without quarrelling." "Yes, I have observed and admired the equilibrium of your household. It would be very valuable to me to know how you manage it. Will you let me into the secret, Mr. Stillwater?" "Ha, ha, ha! Easy enough—I give in!" "You give in?" Lord Canning asked, incredulously. "Every time," replied his host, proudly. "I never stand out against them, so they can’t quarrel with me—and when they quarrel between themselves, I agree with them all—separately." He looked at his guest with a self-congratulatory expression. "I’m afraid I could not adopt that method," he said quietly, flicking the ashes from his cigar. "There," Stillwater exclaimed, triumphantly, "I told you it wouldn’t do!" They heard Mrs. Bunker laughing in the woods with Lord Stafford, and presently she came through the trees, in her scarlet cape, bare-headed, followed by her guest carrying a wicker basket, brimful of balsam sprigs. "We’ve been balsaming," she said. "I beg pardon," remarked Lord Canning. "Balsaming," she repeated. "That’s what they call it here—picking balsam." She knocked his forehead lightly with her forefinger. "See it now—or shall I get a hammer?" He laughed. "My stupidity must try your patience at times, Mrs. Bunker." "I wanted some to fill the pillow I am making for Lord Stafford to take to England—when he goes." Lord Stafford offered her his arm, and, laughing, they continued their way to the camp. "Then you haven’t much faith in our speedy departure—although you drank the toast last night, Mrs. Bunker?" "Not in yours—your nephew’s, yes. But I don’t imagine you’ll go with him."