"The woman I should like to marry must be, and look--supremely well-bred--but healthy and normal, not overbred like poor Laura, and Gerard's wife, Beatrice.--She must be able to talk upon the subjects which interest one--a person of cultivation in short. She must have a sense of humour and fine ideals and a strong feeling about the responsibilities of the position, and be above all things dignified and quiet and composed.--And I should like--" and here a faint deprecatory smile flickered about his mouth for a moment, "I should like her to love me, and take a little interest in the human, tangible side of the affair--if you do not think I am asking too much of fate at my age?" "It is a large order--I only know of one woman who answers to your requirements and she of course is entirely out of the question." "Who is she--and why is she out of the question?" "Useless to answer either query, since, as I say, she is altogether out of the running. It was only an idea of mine, but I will diligently seek for your paragon--for, Mordryn, I shall never feel my conscience clear until I see you happily told off--and the father of at least six sturdy boys." The Duke raised his hands in deprecation. "Heavens, Seraphim! You would overwhelm me with a litter, then! My wants in that direction are modest. The 'quiver full' has never appealed to me. I want my wife to be my loved companion--my darling if you will--but not, not a rabbit." When he was dressing for dinner he thought over his friend's words--He had not insisted upon knowing who the "one woman" could be--He himself had lately seen a creature who seemingly, as far as he could judge from one evening's acquaintance, possessed quite a number of the necessary qualifications--but as in the case of Seraphim's specimen, his was also completely out of the running, and not to be thought of in any capacity--Alas! It was strange, with this resolution so firmly fixed in his mind, that after dinner he should have broken loose from the bevy of ladies waiting to entrap him, and have deliberately gone to the piano to talk to that dull little Lady Flamborough who was leaning upon the lid, chatting with Miss Bush! Katherine kept her eyes fixed upon the keyboard with that meek, deferential demureness suitable to her station when amidst such exalted company; but her red mouth had an indefinable expression about it which was exasperating. Mordryn seized the first second in which Lady Flamborough's attention was diverted by a remark from someone else, to bend down a little and say softly, "Are you not even going to say good evening to me, Miss Bush?--It is 'this night week.'" She looked up with perfect composure. "Good evening, Your Grace." He frowned. "Is that all?" "As Your Grace very truly remarked, it is 'this night week.'" "And you think that has answered all the riddles?" "Of course." He frowned again, he knew Julia Scarrisbrooke was swooping down upon him, there was not a moment's time to be lost.