"Don't know about getting over it. He's down to-day with a real bad fit of the gout----" "Is he?" she remarked coolly. "Then I shall have a holiday." As she said the words her mind travelled over the possibilities of even a few days. "Compton," she said suddenly, "I never quite understand the position of affairs in regard to Drummuir's sons. The estate's entailed, isn't it?" "Heir male of the body," replied the colonel. "That is why I warned you to look out lest Marmaduke should worm money out of his father. So long as the old man lives you're all right; but when he dies you will only have the cash and the savings--and the title. The rest all goes to Pitt--after him, as he has no children, and isn't likely to have any--to Marmaduke as heir presumptive. After him to Peter, but Marmaduke is sure to marry; he's really a very good-looking fellow----" She interrupted him curtly; she did not need to be told that. "Thanks. I quite understand, only I wished to be sure." She passed to the window and looked out. Peter, as usual surrounded by a perfect pack of silly, silky spaniels--they suited him exactly with his wide weak mouth, long fair hair, and general exuberance of dress--was on the lawn talking to Marmaduke. The latter looked up, saw her, and bowed. She kissed her hand to him and returned to her seat, her mind still confused, but her will steady. "Well," she said lightly, "I suppose by and by I shall have to go in and cheer up my fiancé, but I shan't be sorry for a few days' holiday." She told Marmaduke so also when she appeared, exquisite and dainty, declaring that, as she was useless at home, since his father, poor dear, could not even bear the sight of her for more than five minutes, she thought it would be a fine opportunity to see a little more of the place than she had hitherto been able to; and would Marmaduke tell her where to go. The result of which innocent interrogatory being that in the full glory of a summer afternoon, the sea calm as a mill pond, Marmaduke found himself sitting in a boat as it drifted idly beneath the old red sandstone cliffs facing the North Sea with his arm round La Fantine's waist and a curious mixture of desire and disdain in his heart. "You see, my dear boy," she was saying, "I dare say you think ill of me." "I don't, I don't indeed!" he protested. "Well, you did think ill of me," she continued, with a heavenly smile; "but I really have all the Christian virtues. That is the worst of it. I hate giving pain, or seeing people suffer. And I like doing my best for people, if I can. Now my proposition sounds rather impossible, but it really is quite feasible. I'm not going to talk about our feelings, Duke. We both of us remember last night, so we will leave them out of the question. But you are a young man, you have a future before you--that is to say, if you play your cards properly. You want to be a soldier----"