"How flushed and shaky you are," exclaimed Mopsy, pausing in the pencilling of an eyebrow to look at her sister. "Is the deed done? Has he popped?" "No, he has not popped. But I think he will." "I wish I were of your opinion. I should like a rich sister. It would be the next best thing to being well off oneself." "You only think of his money," said Dopsy, who had really fallen in love--for only about the fifteenth time, so there was still freshness in the feeling--"I should care for him just as much if he were a pauper." "No; you would not," said Mopsy. "I daresay you think you would, but you wouldn't. There is a glamour about money which nobody in our circumstances can resist. A man who dresses perfectly--who has never been hard up--who has always lived among elegant people--there is a style about him that goes straight to one's heart. Don't you remember how in "Peter Wilkins" there are different orders of beings--a superior class--born so, bred so--always apart and above the others. Mr. Hamleigh belongs to that higher order. If he were poor and shabby he would be a different person. You wouldn't care twopence for him." The Rector of Trevalga and his wife dined at Mount Royal that evening, so Dopsy fell to the lot of Mr. Hamleigh, and had plenty of opportunity of carrying on the siege during dinner, while Mrs. Tregonell and the Rector, who was an enthusiastic antiquarian, talked of the latest discoveries in Druidic remains. After dinner came the usual adjournment to billiards. The Rector and his wife stayed in the drawing-room with Christabel and Jessie. Mr. Hamleigh would have remained with them, but Leonard specially invited him to the billiard-room. "You must have had enough Mendelssohn and Beethoven to last you for the next six months," he said. "You had better come and have a smoke with us." "I could never have too much good music," answered Angus. "Well, I don't suppose you'd get much to night. The Rector and my wife will talk about pots and pans all the evening, now they've once started. You may as well be sociable, for once-in-a-way, and come with us." Such an invitation, given in heartiest tones, and with seeming frankness, could hardly be refused. So Angus went across the hall with the rest of the billiard players, to the fine old room, once a chapel, in which there was space enough for settees, and easy chairs, tea-tables, books, flowers, and dogs, without the slightest inconvenience to the players. "You'll play, Hamleigh?" said Leonard. "No, thanks; I'd rather sit and smoke and watch you." "Really! Then Monty and I will play Jack and one of the girls. Billiards is the only game at which one can afford to play against relations--they can't cheat. Mopsy, will you play? Dopsy can mark.'"