"Now then," he began, "about this Mr. Stansfield----" "Stainton," mildly corrected his wife as she took a seat opposite him and looked out over the now rapidly filling Madison Avenue. "Stainton." Newberry accepted the amendment. "What's wrong with him?" "Oh," said Ethel, her fingers twisting in her lap, "it's not that. There's nothing _wrong_ with him." "Well, then!" Preston spoke as if his wife's admission settled the matter. But it did not settle the matter. "Only he is not----" Ethel added: "Is he quite a gentleman?" Newberry sighed as one sighs at a child that will not comprehend the simplest statement. "It's hard for art to compete with Nature," said he; "a gentleman is man-made, but Nature can do better when she wants." "We don't really know him." "I know a good deal about him, Ethel. Enough for present purposes." "From Mr. Holt?" "Yes. When Holt read of his success in the papers, the canny George went to his brokers and made inquiries--thorough inquiries." "He seems to have got whatever money he has very quickly, Preston." "That only proves that he is either lucky or crooked. It doesn't prove he didn't get it. What makes you think he's not quite a gentleman?" "Well," said Ethel, "----that." "Poof!" said Newberry. "He was talking a good deal to Muriel at the opera last night. Didn't he behave all right?" "I don't know. I suppose so. I asked her what he talked about, and she said she didn't know." "Very sensible of her, I'm sure. I wouldn't have expected it of her. It goes to show that she's not too young to marry." Ethel permitted herself a fat start. "O, Preston, you never mean----" "Now, my dear, you know very well that we've meant nothing else. You've known it ever since I sent you to call Muriel." "And you don't think him too old for her?" "Old? He's probably not fifty." "Mr. Holt said he thought fifty." "Very well: fifty. Fifty and eighteen. The one has the youth and the other supplies the balance. Most suitable. Besides, it's done every day. Heavens, Ethel, you mustn't expect everything!" "But do you think there's nobody else, Preston? She has been away a good deal, you know, and----" "Somebody else?" "Yes." Ethel's eyes sought her husband's and, meeting them, fell. "Somebody that the child cares for," she murmured. "Stuff!" said Preston. "That convent-place has a high reputation for the way it's conducted. Also, any man of forty can steal a girl from any boy of twenty if he only cares to try. The only trouble is that he hardly ever cares enough about it to try." "Fifty," repeated Mrs. Newberry. "Fifty,--granted," continued Preston. "Where we're lucky is that this fellow seems to want to try--supposing there is any other chap, and of course there isn't." "Do you think, Preston"--Ethel's eyes were downcast--"that she can learn to love him?" "Ethel!" said Preston.