“Knows better than that, does Lottie,” the laconic lover said. “Oh, stuff!” cried Stella. “It was only to make herself disagreeable. But she never was any friend of mine.” “Not likely. Lottie knows a thing or two. Not so soft as all that. Put you in prison if she could--push you out of her way.” “But I was never in her way,” cried Stella. At which Sir Charles laughed loud and long. “Tell you what it is--as bad as Lottie. Can’t have you talk to fellows like Uppin’ton. Great prig, not your sort at all. Call myself your sort, Stella, eh? Since anyhow you’re mine.” “I don’t know what you mean by your sort,” Stella said, but with downcast eyes. “Yes, you do--chums--always get on. Awf’lly fond of you, don’t you know? Eh? Marriage awf’l bore, but can’t be helped. Look here! Off to India if you won’t have me,” the wooer said. “Oh, Charlie!” “Fact; can’t stand it here any more--except you’d have me, Stella.” “I don’t want,” said Stella with a little gasp, “to have any one--just now.” “Not surprised,” said Sir Charles, “marriage awf’l bore. Glad regiment’s ordered off; no good in England now. Knock about in India; get knocked on the head most likely. No fault of yours--if you can’t cotton to it, little girl.” “Oh, Charlie! but I don’t want you to go to India,” Stella said. “Well, then, keep me here. There are no two ways of it,” he said more distinctly than usual, holding out his hand. And Stella put her hand with a little hesitation into his. She was not quite sure she wanted to do so. But she did not want him to go away. And though marriage was an awf’l bore, the preparations for it were “great fun.” And he was her sort--they were quite sure to get on. She liked him better than any of the others, far better than that prig, Uffington, though he was an earl. And it would be nice on the whole to be called my Lady, and not Miss any longer. And Charlie was very nice; she liked him far better than any of the others. That was the refrain of Stella’s thoughts as she turned over in her own room all she had done. To be married at twenty is pleasant too. Some girls nowadays do not marry till thirty or near it, when they are almost decrepit. That was what would happen to Kate; if, indeed, she ever married at all. Stella’s mind then jumped to a consideration of the wedding presents and who would give her--what, and then to her own appearance in her wedding dress, walking down the aisle of the old church. What a fuss all the Stanleys would be in about the decorations; and then there were the bridesmaids to be thought of. Decidedly the preliminaries would be great fun. Then, of course, afterwards she would be presented and go into society--real society--not this mere country house business. On the whole there was a great deal that was desirable in it, all round.