Alison's freshness was delightful to the coarse, jaded man of the world, who, tired at last of extravagant and congenial dissipation (that would have horrified his worthy father the Alderman of Threadneedle Street), thought now of trying domestic felicity, _pour se désennuyer_; and truly Alison was so unlike most of the other women he had known, or whose acquaintance he had chosen to cultivate, that the present opportunity gave him great expectations of the future. He actually reckoned upon a safe conquest, now that he had her all to himself; and so far as Sir Ranald was concerned, while piling kindnesses upon him, and pressing upon him also the best wines that the cellar of Cadbury Court offered, he would not have been sorry had a gale of wind blown the pompous old baronet overboard, and left Alison alone in the world--alone, and at his mercy! Leaving Sir Ranald busy with a telescope on deck scanning the churches of St. Jacques and St. Remy, with Le Follet and the fisher town of Dieppe, Cadbury descended to the luxurious and beautiful little cabin of the yacht, the gilded and mahogany fittings of which were exquisite, and there found Alison--alone, as he expected. How sad and fair, young and pure, she looked in all the brightness of her beauty, as her head rested against the crimson back of the cushioned locker or sofa on which she was seated in an attitude expressive of utter weariness of heart. 'Alison,' said he, attempting to take her hand. Her eyes flashed now, and her proud little lip curled, as she said, 'Lord Cadbury, when did I give you permission to call me--as papa does--by my Christian name?' 'Why do you _Lord_ me?' he asked; 'I would you called me--Timothy,' he added, rather faintly; and at this absurd name a little smile flickered on Alison's pale face, and a gesture of impatience escaped her, as she knew that she was about to be subjected to some more of his odious and weary love-making. 'My passion for you made me so modest and diffident,' said he (though in reality it was his years), 'that I addressed myself first to your father, though you were well aware of the sweet hopes I fostered in my heart, Alison.' 'It is impossible for me to listen to more of this sort of thing, Lord Cadbury.' 'I can scarcely believe that your decision is final--that you are in earnest with me.' 'Earnest! Do you imagine, sir, that I would jest in this matter, and--and with you?' she exclaimed, becoming--with all her native gentleness--tremulous with suppressed passion. 'When once I ventured to hint of a deeper interest in you than mere friendship, you did not discourage me,' urged Cadbury, who by use and wont could make love in his own way pretty fluently now. 'Perhaps I misunderstood you,--or deemed it--deemed it----' 'What, Alison?' 'A fatherly interest.' Cadbury winced a little at this remark.