"Serious, Lady Barmouth; indeed I am," said Charley Melton, who was Viscount Diphoos' guest down at the Hurst, Lord Barmouth's seat in Sussex; "and as to personal matters, my income--" "Hush, hush! you bad, wicked boy," exclaimed her ladyship; "what do you take me for? Just as if the union of two young hearts was to be made a question of hard cash and settlements, and such mean, wretched, sordid matters. I beg you will never utter a word to me again about such things. They are shocking to me." "I am very glad to hear you say so, Lady Barmouth," said Melton, smiling frankly in her face, as in a gentle heaving billow style, she leaned, upon his arm, and undulated softly and tapped his fingers with her fan. "I like to think of my darling Maude as a sweet innocent girl in whose presence such a sordid thing as money ought never to be mentioned. There, there, there, they are calling you from the lawn, Charley Melton; go to them and play and be happy while you have your youth and high spirits. How I envy you all sometimes?" "Your ladyship has made me very happy," said Melton, flushing slightly. "It is my desire to make all belonging to me happy," replied her ladyship. "I have seen Diana, my sweet child, settled, now it is my desire to see Maude the same. There, there, go away, for my eyes are weak with tears, and I feel half hysterical. Go away, my dear boy, go away." "But you will let me see your ladyship to a seat?" "No, no, no; go away, go away." "Yo-hoy!" shouted a familiar voice. "Charley Melton!--_are_ you coming!" "Yes, yes, coming," replied Melton, as her ladyship tapped him on the arm very significantly, and shook her head at him, while her eyes plaintively gazed at his. And she said to herself--"Yes, his expectations, Lady Rigby said, were excellent." The next moment he was on his way to the croquet lawn, where a gaily dressed party was engaged in preparing for a little match. "I never expected it," said the young man to himself; "and either I'm in luck's way, or her ladyship is not the mercenary creature people say. She is evidently agreeable, and if she is, I have no fear of Lord Barmouth, for the old man likes me." "Come, old fellow," cried Tom, advancing to meet him, with the biggest croquet mallet over his shoulder that could be found in the trade. "What have you and the old lady been chatting over? She hasn't been dropping any hints about being _de trop_?" Melton was silent, for he enjoyed the other's interest. "If she has," cried Tom, "I'll strike: I won't stand it. It's too bad;--it's--" "Gently, gently," said Melton, smiling. "She has been all that I could desire, and it is evident that she does not look upon my pretensions to your sister's hand with disfavour." "What--disfavour? Do you mean to say in plain English that the old girl has not cut up rough about your spooning after Maude?" "Is that plain English?" "Never mind. Go on. What did she say?"