"I’m going to the Drawing Room to-morrow, Vin," said she, "to present Louie Drexel; and if you were kind and civil you would come down to St. James’s Park and find out our brougham and talk to us while we are waiting. I do so want you to get to know Miss Drexel well; it would be worth your while, I can tell you. You see, those American girls have such excellent good sense. This evening, before you came in, your father was treating us to a dissertation on the iniquity of riches—or rather the absurdity of people revelling in wealth, and at the same time professing to be Christians. He asked—and I’m sure I couldn’t answer him—how a Bishop can reconcile his enjoyment of £10,000 a year with Christ’s plain injunction, ’Sell all that thou hast and distribute unto the poor.’ And while I was listening to the sermon, I was thinking of you, Vin. I don’t know how far you have accepted your father’s theories—which he himself takes precious good care not to put into practice. But some day—for young men are so impulsive and wilful and uncertain—you might suddenly take it into your head to do some wild thing of that kind; and then don’t you see how well it would be for you to be married to a sensible American girl; for if you were to sell all that you have and give to the poor, she would make pretty certain you didn’t sell all that she had—so long as the Married Women’s Property Act was in force. There’s no mad Quixotism about a girl like that—level-headed, isn’t that what they call it over there? Then think what a help such a wife as that would be to you in public life. Think of an election, for example—why, Louie Drexel could talk the voters out of their five senses—bamboozle the women, and laugh the men into good humour. I wonder you didn’t pick up one of those bright American girls when you were over in the States: I suppose you were too busy examining the political machine, and the machinists. But I’m glad you didn’t; I couldn’t trust you; and I’m going to do it for you myself. You are my boy: I’m going to provide for you. And I haven’t fixed on Louie Drexel yet; but at the same time you might come down to-morrow to St. James’s Park and talk to her." He withdrew his eyes from the crimson lamp, and came and took a chair near her. "I am thinking of making a little change in my arrangements," said he. "There is too much distraction here; especially at this time of the year, when everybody’s in town. I am going to take rooms elsewhere."