"Dear Mrs. Talbot," says Dynecourt softly, "has it never occurred to you how safe a thing it would be for my cousin Sir Adrian to marry a sensible woman--a woman who understands the world and its ways--a woman young and beautiful certainly, but yet conversant with the _convenances_ of society? Such a woman would rescue Adrian from the shoals and quicksands that surround him in the form of mercenary friends and scheming mothers. Such a woman might surely be found. Nay, I think I myself could put my hand upon her, if I dared, at this moment." Mrs. Talbot trembles slightly, and blushes a good deal, but says nothing. "He is my nearest of kin," goes on Dynecourt, in the same low impassive voice. "Naturally I am interested in him, and my interest on this point is surely without motive; as, were he never to marry, were he to leave no heir, were he to die some sudden death"--here a remarkable change overspreads his features--"I should inherit all the land you see around you, and the title besides." Mrs. Talbot is still silent. She merely bows her head in assent. "Then, you see, I mean kindly toward him when I suggest that he should marry some one calculated to sustain his rank in the world," continues Dynecourt. "As I have said before, I know one who would fill the position charmingly, if she would deign to do so." "And who?" falters Dora Talbot nervously. "May I say to whom I allude?" he murmurs. "Mrs. Talbot, pardon me if I have been impertinent in thinking of you as that woman." A little flickering smile adorns Dora's lips for a moment, then, suddenly remembering that smiles do not become her, she relapses into her former calm. "You flatter me," she says sweetly. "I never flatter," he responds, with telling emphasis. "But, I can see you are not angry, and so I am emboldened to say plainly, I would gladly see you my cousin's wife. Is the idea not altogether abhorrent to you?" "No. Oh, no!" "It is perhaps--pardon me if I go too far--even agreeable to you?" "Mr. Dynecourt," says Mrs. Talbot, suddenly glancing at him and laying her jeweled fingers lightly on his arm, "I will confess to you that I am tired of being alone--dependent on myself, as it were--thrown on my own judgment for the answering of every question that arises. I would gladly acknowledge a superior head. I would have some one to help me now and then with a word of advice; in short, I would have a husband. And,"--here she lays her fan against her lips and glances archly at him--"I confess too that I like Sir Adrian as--well--as well as any man I know." "He is a very fortunate man"--gravely. "I would he knew his happiness." "Not for worlds," says Mrs. Talbot, with well-feigned alarm. "You would not even hint to him such a thing as--as--" She stops, confused.