"No, 'pon honour, no," said Sir Grantley. "Fact is, don't you know, I feel a kind of nervous shrinking." "Ah, you young men, you young men," said her ladyship, shaking her head. "But come: tell me. Do I know her?" "Oh, yas," said Sir Grantley. "To be sure," cried her ladyship, clapping her hands together. "It's Lady Mary Mahon. There, I've found you out." "No," said Sir Grantley. "Guess again," and this time he secured the eye-glass with a good ring of circles round it, which did not add to his personal appearance. "Not Lady Mary," mused her ladyship. "Well, it can't be the wealthy Miss Parminter?" "No," said Sir Grantley, calmly; "oh, dear, no." "Why, of course not; I know, it's the Honourable Grace Leasome." "N-no," said Sir Grantley, with the most gentlemanly _insouciance_. "Try again." "I give it up," said her ladyship, smiling. "Now, Maude, it's your turn," was heard faintly from the croquet lawn. "Yas," said Sir Grantley, bowing slightly. "That is the lady. My dear Lady Barmouth, will you allow me humbly and respectfully, don't you know, to propose for your charming daughter's hand?" Lady Barmouth sank back in her seat as if struck with horror. "Anything the matter?" said Sir Grantley, looking puzzled. "Did--did I understand you aright, Sir Grantley?" faltered her ladyship. "Aright? Oh, yas. Sorry to be so sudden and upset you, but thought you expected it, don't you know." "My dear Sir Grantley; my dear young friend," exclaimed her ladyship, laying her hand in a sympathising fashion upon his arm. "This is too painful." "Well, suppose it is," said Sir Grantley, calmly. "Just lost one daughter too--charming girl, Diana--but it must come, Lady Barmouth. I've been a bit free and got rid of some money, but there's about nine thou a year left, and then I shall have the Mellish estates by and by!-- another three thou--might settle that on her, don't you know." "Oh, this is dreadful," panted her ladyship. "My dear young friend, I should have been too happy to give my consent, but dear Maude is as good as engaged to Mr Melton." "The doose she is," said Sir Grantley, dropping his glass and looking blankly at his companion. "Oh, yes," exclaimed her ladyship, applying her scent bottle to her delicate nostrils. "I thought you must have seen it." "Humph! doosid provoking, don't you know," said Sir Grantley, calmly. "Made up my mind at last, and now too late." "I am so--so--sorry," sighed her ladyship. "Can't be helped. I did mean to propose the week before last, but had to see my doctor. Melton, eh? Doosid poor, isn't he?" "Oh, really, Sir Grantley, I know nothing about Mr Melton's prospects, but he is a Mowbray Melton, and a wealthy cousin is childless, and not likely to many." "What, Dick Mowbray? Married last week." "Mr Melton's cousin?" "To be sure he did, Lady Barmouth; and besides, Charley Melton is one of the younger branch. Poor as Job."