“Yes,” she said, bitterly. “We are both celebrities. Rather different from old times.” “We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. However, let us hope all that is over now.” “Who were those women who were with you a minute ago?” “Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss McQuinch.” “I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, she hasnt an idea to bless herself with. The other looks more of a devil. Now that you are a great man, why dont you marry a swell?” “I intend to do so.” “The Lord help her then!” “Amen. Good-bye.” “Oh, good-bye. Go on to Soho,” she added, to the coachman, settling herself fretfully on the cushions. CHAPTER IX On Monday morning Douglas received a note inviting him to lunch at Mr. Lind’s club. He had spent the greater part of the previous night composing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his pocket to St. James’s Street. Mr. Lind received him cordially; listened to an account of his recent stay abroad; and described his own continental excursions, both gentlemen expressing great interest at such coincidences as their having put up at the same hotel or travelled by the same line of railway. When luncheon was over, Mr. Lind proposed that they should retire to the smoking-room. “I should like to have a few words with you first, as we are alone here,” said Douglas. “Certainly,” said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity in anticipation of being appealed to as a parent. “Certainly, Sholto.” “What I have to say, coming so soon after my long absence, will probably surprise you. I had it in contemplation before my departure, and was only prevented from broaching it to you then by circumstances which have happily since lost their significance. When I tell you that my communication has reference to Marian, you will perhaps guess its nature.” “Indeed!” said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. “Well, Sholto, if it be so, you have my heartiest approval. You know what a lonely life her marriage will entail on me; so you will not expect me to consent without a few regrets. But I could not desire a better settlement for her. She must leave me some day. I have no right to complain.” “We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is in Marian’s nature to form many ties, but to break none.” “She is an amiable girl, my—my darling child. Does she know anything of this?” “I am here at her express request; and there remains to me the pleasure of getting her own final consent, which I would not press for until armed with your sanction.” Except for an involuntary hitch of his eyelids, Mr. Lind looked as if he believed perfectly in Douglas’s respect for his parental claims. “Quite right,” he said, “quite right. You have my best wishes. I have no doubt you will succeed: none. There are, of course, a few affairs to be settled—a few contingencies to be provided for—children—accidents—and so forth. No difficulty is likely to arise between us on that score; but still, these things have to be arranged.”