“My friend the Duke of Westchester,” began the Major, “has in his breeding farm eight thousand acres--” “But I’ve no doubt that Mr. Carteret’s is very nearly as large,” interrupted Lady Withers. “I don’t think size has anything to do with it,” said Mr. Carteret, uneasily. “The fact is, we don’t raise the kind of horse that English dealers would buy.” “I think size has much to do with it,” replied the Major. “I wish,” said Lady Withers, “that you would tell Major Hammerslea exactly how large your farms are.” “I don’t know exactly,” said Mr. Carteret, uneasily. “But, about how large?” insisted Lady Withers. “There is something over a million acres in the Texas piece,” said Mr. Carteret, with some embarrassment, “and something under six hundred thousand in Wyoming.” Lady Withers and the Major both looked at him with eyes of amazement. But Lady Withers’s amazement was admiring. “I thought so,” said she, calmly. The Major in silence walked over to the table and took a cigar. “Looking at it from all points of view,” she continued, “it would be just the thing for Cecil. He is intelligent with regard to horses.” “But I don’t wish to go to Texas,” said the Hon. Cecil, who had joined the group. “They say the shootin’ ’s most moderate.” “It isn’t necessary _yet_ for you to go to Texas,” said Lady Withers, coldly. “Mr. Carteret and I are arranging to employ your talents in England.” “Of course another objection,” said Mr. Carteret, “is that Granvil is too good a man to waste on such an occupation. The horse business is very confining. It’s an awful bore to be tied down.” “You are absolutely right about that,” said the Hon. Cecil, with a burst of frankness. “You don’t know what a relief it is to be out of the Guards. Awfully confining life, the Guards.” “I think,” said Lady Withers, apparently oblivious to the views of her nephew, “that Mr. Barclay takes rather the more businesslike view of these matters. It is he, I fancy, who looks after the affairs of your estates; and I should judge,” she continued, “that, after all, his advice to a young man like Cecil with a very moderate income would be wiser. I believe very much in an occupation for young men.” Mr. Carteret saw that his time had come. He looked at Lady Withers and smiled sadly. “Of course I’m very fond of Barclay,” he said in a lower tone, “and of course he is an awfully charming, plausible boy--” Then he stopped, apparently because Major Hammerslea was returning with his cigar. “What do you mean?” asked Lady Withers. Mr. Carteret made no direct reply, but moved toward the piano, and Lady Withers followed. “It is best to speak plainly,” he said, “because, after all, business is business, as we say.” “Exactly,” said Lady Withers. Her teeth had ceased to gleam. The radiance had left her face, though not the bloom upon it. Her large, beaming eyes had contracted. She looked twenty years older.