He told her the history of his doubts, about which she did not care twopence—his “phases of faith and feeling,” as he expressed it alliteratively. All she wanted to know was about his prospects—whether his father was as well off as he was said to be—she had heard people talk of him as a very rich man—those officious people who are always calculating other people’s incomes, and descanting upon the little their neighbours spend, and the much that they must contrive to save. Juliet had heard a good deal of this kind of talk about Matthew Dalbrook, whose unpretentious and somewhat old-fashioned style of living gave an impression of reserved force—wealth invested and accumulating for a smarter generation. After all, perhaps, this young man, whose adoration was obvious, might not be a despicable _parti_. He might be pretty well off by-and-by, with a fourth, or better than a fourth, share of Matthew Dalbrook’s scrapings,—and he was Lord Cheriton’s cousin, and therefore could hardly be called a nobody. Moved by these considerations, gravely weighed in the grave and grey November dusk, as they rode slowly between tall hedges, leafy still, but sear and red with the frost, Juliet felt inclined to let herself be engaged to her legal lover. She had been engaged to several people since she danced at her first ball. The bond did not count for very much in her mind. One could always slip out of that kind of thing, if it became inconvenient—one could manage with such tact that the man himself cried off, if one were afraid of being denounced as a jilt. Juliet and her lovers had always parted friends; and she wore more than one half-hoop of sapphires or of brilliants which had once played a solemn part as her engagement ring, but which had lapsed into a souvenir of friendship. She was not so foolish as to hasten matters. She wanted to see her way before her; and she opposed Harrington’s youthful ardour with the calm _savoirfaire_ of seven and twenty. She called him a foolish boy, and declared that they must cease to be friends if he insisted upon talking nonsense. She would have to accept a very urgent invitation to Lady Balgowny Brigg’s Castle in Scotland, which she had been fencing with for years, if he made it difficult for them to meet. She threw him into a state of abject alarm by this stupendous threat. “I won’t say a word you can take objection to,” he protested, “though I can’t think why you should object.” “You forget that I have to study other people’s ideas as well as my own,” she answered gently. “I hope you won’t be offended if I tell you that my mother would never speak to me again if I were engaged to you.” “No doubt Lady Baldwin has higher views,” the young man said meekly.