As a matter of fact any woman could have seen that it wasn't necessary to speak; Brackenbury, all of them were throwing themselves at the young man's head. That's why I felt that, if _I_ didn't--give him a pause for reflection, _no_ one would. No, he hadn't said anything yet; it seemed such presumption that, though every one was gracious to him and Phyllida more than gracious, he wanted an outside opinion from some one whom he was good enough to call "a woman of the world." Was he justified in saying anything while his financial prospects were so uncertain? Was it fair to ask Phyllida to give up so much of the life she was accustomed to? Would people think he was trying to marry her for her money? Was he entitled to ask her to wait? I said... Phyllida was not present, you understand, so anything she tells you _can_ only be the fruit of a disordered imagination. If Brackenbury sent her right away, the whole thing would be forgotten in two months... I really forget what I _did_ say... At dinner I could see that Colonel Butler was pondering my advice. At least, when I say "advice", the limit of my responsibility is that perhaps the _effect_ of our little talk was to check his natural impetuosity. Things were sinking in; his own good sense, more than anything I should have dared to say... Phyllida came down arrayed with quite unnecessary splendour--we were only the family and Colonel Butler. "Poor child," I thought to myself, "you fancy you're attracting him when you're only frightening the shy bird away; you imagine he's admiring your frock when he's only wondering how much it cost." It was sinking in... If poor Ruth wanted her to throw herself away on a penniless surveyor, she might have told her that _simplicity_ was the note to strike. Phyllida won't think for herself, and Ruth is incapable of thinking for her. Good gracious! at dinner the child sat between Colonel Butler and my boy Will; I don't encourage any girl to become a minx, but no man thinks the better of you for throwing yourself at his head. A little distance, a little indifference; until a man's jealous, he doesn't know he's in love. She proved my point that night, both my points; Will was furious--and with reason--at being so uncivilly neglected; and the young paragon ... he was simply sated. When the telegram arrived...