Barbara gave a delighted exclamation. “But how perfectly splendid!” she said. “Fancy a Comber doing anything original! Michael and I are the only Combers who ever have, since Combers ‘arose from out the azure main’ in the year one. I married an American; that’s something, though it’s not up to Michael!” “That is not quite my view of it,” said he. “As for its being original, it would be original enough if Marion eloped with a Patagonian.” Lady Ashbridge let fall her embroidery at this monstrous suggestion. “You are talking very wildly, Robert,” she said, in a pained voice. “My dear, get on with your sacred carpet,” said he. “I am talking to Barbara. I have already ascertained your--your lack of views on the subject. I was saying, Barbara, that mere originality is not a merit.” “No, you never said that,” remarked Lady Ashbridge. “I should have if you had allowed me to. And as for your saying that he has done it, Barbara, that is very wide of the mark, and I intend shall continue to be so.” “Dear great Bashaw, that is just what you said to me when I told you I was going to marry his Excellency. But I did. And I think it is a glorious move on Michael’s part. It requires brain to find out what you like, and character to go and do it. Combers haven’t got brains as a rule, you see. If they ever had any, they have degenerated into conservative instincts.” He again refreshed himself with the landscape. The roofs of Ashbridge were visible in the clear sunset. . . . Ashbridge paid its rents with remarkable regularity. “That may or may not be so,” he said, forgetting for a moment the danger of being dignified. “But Combers have position.” Barbara controlled herself admirably. A slight tremor shook her, which he did not notice. “Yes, dear,” she said. “I allow that Combers have had for many generations a sort of acquisitive cunning, for all we possess has come to us by exceedingly prudent marriages. They have also--I am an exception here--the gift of not saying very much, which certainly has an impressive effect, even when it arises from not having very much to say. They are sticky; they attract wealth, and they have the force called vis inertiae, which means that they invest their money prudently. You should hear Tony--well, perhaps you had better not hear Tony. But now here is Michael showing that he has got tastes. Can you wonder that I’m delighted? And not only has he got tastes, but he has the strength of character to back them. Michael, in the Guards too! It was a perfect farce, and he’s had the sense to see it. He hated his duties, and he hated his diversions. Now Francis--” “I am afraid Michael has always been a little jealous of Francis,” remarked his father. This roused Barbara; she spoke quite seriously: