"You've been riding?" he said, much amused. "Are you stiff?" "A trifle," replied the other carelessly. "I must keep it up. Really, you know, I've rather neglected the horses lately." "Rather. So you're taking up riding again?" Portlaw nodded: "I've come to the conclusion that I need exercise." Malcourt, who had been urging him for years to exercise, nodded approval as though the suggestion were a brand-new one. "Yes," said Portlaw, "I shall ride, I think, every day. I intend to do a good bit of tramping, too. It's excellent for the liver, Louis." At this piece of inspired information Malcourt assumed an expression of deepest interest, but hoped Portlaw might not overdo it. "I'm going to diet, too," observed Portlaw, watching the effect of this astounding statement on his superintendent. "My theory is that we all eat too much." "Don't do anything Spartan," said Malcourt warningly; "a man at your time of life--" "My--what! Confound it, Louis, I'm well this side of forty!" "Yes, perhaps; but when a man reaches your age there is not much left for him but the happiness of overeating--" "What d'y' mean?" "Nothing; only as he's out of the race with younger men as far as a pretty woman is concerned--" "Who's out!" demanded Portlaw, red in the face. "What sort of men do you suppose interest women? Broilers? I always thought your knowledge of women was superficial; now I know it. And you don't know everything about everything else, either--about summonses and lawsuits, for example." And he cast an exultant look at his superintendent. But Malcourt let him tell the news in his own way; and he did, imparting it in bits with naive enjoyment, apparently utterly unconscious that he was doing exactly what his superintendent had told him to do. "You _are_ a diplomat, aren't you?" said Malcourt with a weary smile. "A little, a little," admitted Portlaw modestly. "I merely mentioned these things--" He waved his hand to check any possible eulogy of himself from Malcourt. "I'll merely say this: that when I make up my mind to settle anything--" He waved his hand again, condescendingly. "That man," thought Malcourt, "will be done for in a year. Any woman could have had him; the deuce of it was to find one who'd take him. I think she's found." And looking up blandly: "Porty, old fellow, you're really rather past the marrying age--" "I'll do what I please!" shouted Portlaw, exasperated. Malcourt had two ways of making Portlaw do a thing; one was to tell him not to, the other the reverse. He always ended by doing it anyway; but the quicker result was obtained by the first method. So Malcourt went to New York next morning convinced that Portlaw's bachelor days were numbered; aware, also, that as soon as Mrs. Ascott took the helm his own tenure of office would promptly expire. He wished it to expire, easily, agreeably, naturally; and that is why he had chosen to shove Portlaw in the general direction of the hymeneal altar.