'Pon my soul, Cheyne, you are unpleasant,' replied the peer, not precisely knowing what to make of this aphorism; 'but there goes the gong for dinner,' and, drawing Alison's hand over his arm, he led the way to the dining-room; 'and so you have quite declined all my offers of a mount, Miss Cheyne?' said he, in a voice of would-be reproachful tenderness, 'though I have put my entire stables at your disposal.' 'Yes--a thousand thanks.' 'Your taste has changed; or are you weary of the spins round Twesildon Hill and Aldershot way! Some of them are pretty stiff, I believe.' Alison coloured at the, perhaps chance, reference to Aldershot, but seated herself on her host's right hand, and made no reply. The slow elaboration of the dinner, with its many _entrées_ and courses, though it was perfect from the maraschino to the coffee; the two tall solemn servants in resplendant liveries (like theatrical properties) in attendance upon them, and the silent butler in the background, all oppressed Alison. 'Fine old place this of yours, Cadbury--dates from Charles II., I believe,' said Sir Ranald, looking approvingly round the stately dining-room, and then glancing at his silent daughter's face; 'it exhibits all the chastened grandeur that only comes by long inheritance, and was not built in a day like the palace of Aladdin.' 'It matters little when built,' replied Cadbury, bluntly, who felt a taunt in the remark, and knew precisely how Sir Ranald viewed his recent title. 'It comes to me out of Cornhill and Threadneedle Street; and I believe that Miss Cheyne will agree with me that it is better to have industrious than expensive forefathers--hewers of wood and drawers of water, though some may deem them. Bosh! Sir Ranald--all men come from Adam,' added Cadbury, who, though a peer, was somewhat of a Radical in his proclivities. 'In these points you and I differ,' said Sir Ranald, stiffly, as he sipped his glass of dry Moselle. 'In this age of the world, a fellow with a pedigree is exactly like a potato,' said Lord Cadbury, laughing. 'How do you mean?' 'That the best part of the plant is underground.' Sir Ranald coloured with annoyance up to his pale temples, and said-- 'I am astonished that you should indulge in such bad form as proverbs; and, as for pedigrees, I never knew any man undervalue them if he ever had one--real or pretended----' Alison, fearing the conversation was taking an unpleasant turn, looked at her father imploringly, and said, with her brightest smile, 'You know, papa, that in this work-a-day age, merit is better than birth.' 'And what is the best test of merit?' asked their host. 'Success,' said Alison. 'Precisely.' 'Not always,' said Sir Ranald; 'sometimes a defeat may be as glorious as a victory. Was it not said of the clans at Culloden that in great attempts it is glorious even to fail?'