“You don’t think she’s a woman to marry, all the same,” Waterville returned. “And if a man were to try to corner you on it you might knock him down, but it wouldn’t be an answer.” “It would have to serve,” said Littlemore. “There are cases where a man must lie nobly,” he added. Waterville looked grave. “What cases?” “Well, where a woman’s honour’s at stake.” “I see what you mean. That’s of course if he has been himself concerned with her.” “Himself or another. It doesn’t matter.” “I think it does matter. I don’t like false swearing,” said Waterville. “It’s a delicate question.” They were interrupted by the arrival of the servant with a second course, and Littlemore gave a laugh as he helped himself. “It would be a lark to see her married to that superior being!” “It would be a great responsibility.” “Responsibility or not, it would be very amusing.” “Do you mean, then, to give her a leg up?” “Heaven forbid! But I mean to bet on her.” Waterville gave his companion a serious glance; he thought him strangely superficial. The alternatives looked all formidable, however, and he sighed as he laid down his fork. VI The Easter holidays that year were unusually genial; mild watery sunshine assisted the progress of the spring. The high dense hedges, in Warwickshire, were like walls of hawthorn embedded in banks of primrose, and the finest trees in England, springing out of them with a regularity which suggested conservative principles, began more densely and downily to bristle. Rupert Waterville, devoted to his duties and faithful in attendance at the Legation, had had little time to enjoy the rural hospitality that shows the English, as he had promptly learned to say, at their best. Freshly yet not wildly exotic he had repeatedly been invited to grace such scenes, but had had hitherto to practise with reserve the great native art of “staying.” He cultivated method and kept the country-houses in reserve; he would take them up in their order, after he should have got a little more used to London. Without hesitation, however, he had accepted the appeal from Longlands; it had come to him in a simple and familiar note from Lady Demesne, with whom he had no acquaintance. He knew of her return from Cannes, where she had spent the whole winter, for he had seen it related in a Sunday newspaper; yet it was with a certain surprise that he heard from her in these informal terms. “Dear Mr. Waterville, my son tells me you will perhaps be able to come down here on the seventeenth to spend two or three days. If you can it will give us much pleasure. We can promise you the society of your charming countrywoman Mrs. Headway.”