Lady Staines looked at Winn, and said she didn't see that it was much worse to marry a manicure girl than one who looked like a manequin. They were neither of them types likely to do credit to the family. Winn replied that, as far as that went, bad clothes and good morals did not always go together. He was prepared apparently with an apt illustration, when Isabella's husband, the Rev. Mr. Betchley, asked feebly if he might go up-stairs to rest. It was quite obvious to everybody that he needed it. The next morning at breakfast the manicure girl was again discussed, but in a veiled way so as not really to upset Charles before the wedding. Winn escaped immediately afterwards with Lionel. They went for a walk, most of which was conducted in silence; finally, however, they found a log, took out their pipes, and made themselves comfortable. Lionel said, "I wish I'd seen Miss Fanshawe; it must be awfully jolly for you, Winn." Winn was silent for a minute or two, then he began, slowly gathering impetus as he went on: "Well--yes, of course, in a sense it is. I mean, I know I'm awfully lucky and all that, only--you see, old chap, I'm frightfully ignorant of women. I know one sort of course--a jolly sight better than you do--but girls! Hang it all, I don't know girls. That's what worries me--she's such a little thing." He paused a moment. "I hope it's all right," he said, "marrying her. It seems pretty rough on them sometimes, I think--don't you--I fancy she's delicate and all that." Lionel nodded. "It does seem rather beastly," he admitted, "their having to have a hard time, I mean--but if they care for you--I suppose it works out all right." Winn paid no attention to this fruitless optimism. He went on with his study of Estelle. "She's--she's religious too, you know, that's why we're to have that other service first. Rather nice idea, I think, don't you, what? Makes it a bit of a strain for her though I'm afraid, but she'd never think of that. I'm sure she's plucky." Lionel also was quite sure Estelle must be plucky. "Fancy you getting married," Lionel said suddenly. "I can't see it somehow." "I feel it funny myself," Winn admitted. "You see, it's so damned long, and I never have seen much of women. I hope she won't expect me to talk a lot or anything of that kind. Her people, you know, chatter like so many magpies--just oozes out of 'em." "We must be off," Lionel said. They stood up, knocked the ashes out of their pipes, and prepared to walk on. It was a mild June day, small vague hills stretched behind them, and before them soft, lawn-like fields fell away to the river's edge. Everywhere the green of trees in a hundred tones of color and with delicate, innumerable leaf shadows, laid upon the landscape, the fragrance and lightness of the spring. They were in a temperate land, every yard of it was cultivated and civilized, immensely lived on and understood. None of it had been neglected or was dangerous or strange to the eye of man.