Through the mind of William Ashe, as he stood looking down upon her, passed a multitude of flying impressions. He knew perfectly well that Mary Lyster was one of the maidens whom it would be possible for him to marry. His mother had never pressed her upon him, but she would certainly acquiesce. It would have been mere mock modesty on his part not to guess that Mary would probably not refuse him. And she was handsome, well provided, well connected--oppressively so, indeed; a man might quail a little before her relations. Moreover, she and he had always been good friends, even when as a boy he could not refrain from teasing her for a slow-coach. During his electoral weeks in the country the thought of "Polly" had often stolen kindly upon his rare moments of peace. He must marry, of course. There was no particular excitement or romance about it. Now that his elder brother was dead and he had become the heir, it simply had to be done. And Polly was very nice--quite sweet-tempered and intelligent. She looked well, moved well, would fill the position admirably. Then, suddenly, as these half-thoughts rushed through his brain, a breath of something cold and distracting--a wind from the land of _ennui_--seemed to blow upon them and scatter them. Was it the mention of the Bishop--tiresome, pompous fellow--or her slightly pedantic tone--or the infinitesimal hint of "management" that her speech implied? Who knows? But in that moment perhaps the scales of life inclined. "Much obliged to the Bishop," he repeated, walking up and down. "I am afraid, however, I don't take things as seriously as he does. Oh, I hope I shall behave decently--but, good Lord, what a comedy it is! You know the sort of articles"--he turned towards her--"our papers will be writing to-morrow on my appointment. They'll make me out no end of a fine fellow--you'll see! And, of course, the real truth is, as you and I know perfectly well, that if it hadn't been for poor Freddy's death--and mother--and her dinners--and the chaps who come here--I might have whistled for anything of the sort. And then I go down to Ledmenham and stand as a Liberal, and get all the pious Radicals to work for me! It's a humbugging world--isn't it?" He returned to the fireplace, and stood looking down upon her--grinning. Mary had resumed her embroidery. She, too, was dimly conscious of something disappointing. "Of course, if you choose to take it like that, you can," she said, rather tartly. "Of course, everything can be made ridiculous." "Well, that's a blessing, anyway!" said Ashe, with his merry laugh. "But look here, Mary, tell me about yourself. What have you been doing?--dancing--riding, eh?" He threw himself down beside her, and began an elder-brotherly cross-examination, which lasted till Lady Tranmore returned and begged him to go at once to his father.