Lady Canterville looked as if she thought this really too ingenious, almost as professional as if their talk were a consultation; but her husband went, all gaily, straighter to the point. “Ah well, if she cares for you I don’t object.” This was a little ambiguous; but before the young man had time to look into it his hostess put a bland question. “Should you expect her to live in America?” “Oh yes. That’s my home, you know.” “Shouldn’t you be living sometimes in England?” “Oh yes—we’ll come over and see you.” He was in love, he wanted to marry, he wanted to be genial and to commend himself to the family; yet it was in his nature not to accept conditions save in so far as they met his taste, not to tie himself or, as they said in New York, give himself away. He preferred in any transaction his own terms to those of any one else, so that the moment Lady Canterville gave signs of wishing to extract a promise he was on his guard. “She’ll find it very different; perhaps she won’t like it,” her ladyship suggested. “If she likes me she’ll like my country,” Jackson Lemon returned with decision. “He tells me he has a plate on his door,” Lord Canterville put in for the right pleasant tone. “We must talk to her of course; we must understand how she feels”—and his wife looked, though still gracious, more nobly responsible. “Please don’t discourage her, Lady Canterville,” Jackson firmly said; “and give me a chance to talk to her a little more myself. You haven’t given me much chance, you know.” “We don’t offer our daughters to people, however amiable, Mr. Lemon.” Her charming grand manner rather quickened. “She isn’t like some women in London, you know,” Lord Canterville helpfully explained; “you see we rather stave off the evil day: we like to be together.” And Jackson certainly, if the idea had been presented to him, would have said that No, decidedly, Lady Barb hadn’t been thrown at him. “Of course not,” he declared in answer to her mother’s remark. “But you know you mustn’t decline overtures too much either; you mustn’t make a poor fellow wait too long. I admire her, I love her, more than I can say; I give you my word of honour for that.” “He seems to think that settles it,” said Lord Canterville, shining richly down at the young American from his place before the cold chimney-piece. “Certainly that’s what we desire, Philip,” her ladyship returned with an equal grace. “Lady Barb believes it; I’m sure she does!” Jackson exclaimed with spirit. “Why should I pretend to be in love with her if I’m not?” Lady Canterville received this appeal in silence, and her husband, with just the least air in the world of repressed impatience, began to walk up and down the room. He was a man of many engagements, and he had been closeted for more than a quarter of an hour with the young American doctor. “Do you imagine you should come often to England?” Lady Canterville asked as if to think of everything.