“That, no doubt,” said the Governor, “would be a fact in your favour. The great fact against you would be that you are still so young. Let me see, is it eight-and twenty?” “Twenty-six,” said Philip. “No more? Only six-and-twenty? And then, successful as your career has been thus far--perhaps I should say distinguished or even brilliant--you are still unsettled in life.” Philip asked if his Excellency meant that he was still unmarried. “And if I do,” the Governor replied, with pretended severity, “and if I do, don't smile too broadly, young man. You ought to know by this time that the personal equation counts for something in this old-fashioned island of yours. Now, the late Deemster was an example which it would be perilous to repeat. If it were repeated, I know who would hear of the blunder every day of his life, and it wouldn't be the Home Secretary either. Deemster Mylrea was called upon to punish the crimes of drink, and he was himself a drunkard; to try the offences of sensuality, and he was himself a sensualist.” Philip could not help it--he gave a little crack of laughter. “To be sure,” said the Governor hastily, “you are in no danger of his excesses; but you will not be a safe candidate to recommend until you have placed yourself to all appearances out of the reach of them. 'Beware of these Christians,' said the great Derby to his son; and pardon me if I revive the warning to a Christian himself.” The colour came strong into Philip's face. Even at that moment he felt angry at so coarse a version of his father's fault. “You mean,” said he, “that we are apt to marry unwisely.” “I do that,” said the Governor. “There's no telling,” said Philip, with a faint crack of his fingers; and the Governor frowned a little--the pock-marks seemed to spread. “Of course, all this is outside my duty, Mr. Christian--I needn't tell you that; but I feel an interest in you, and I've done you some services already, though naturally a young man will think he has done everything for himself. Ah!” he said, rising from his seat at the sound of a gong, “luncheon is ready. Let us join the ladies.” Then, with one hand on Philip's shoulder familiarly, “only a word more, Mr. Christian. Send in your application immediately, and--take the advice of an old fiddler--marry as soon afterwards as may be. But with your prospects it would be a sin not to walk carefully. If she's English, so much the better; but if she's Manx--take care.”