"Oh, I'm not speaking of you two dears; you're not like anyone else; you're an immense comfort," said Guy Firminger. "But they've reduced it to a science, and I assure you that if one were any one in particular, if one were not protected by one's obscurity, one's life would be a burden. Upon my honour one wouldn't escape. I've seen it, I've watched them. Look at poor Beaupré--look at little Raddle over there. I object to him, but I bleed for him." "Lord Beaupré won't marry again," said Mrs. Gosselin with an air of conviction. "So much the worse for him!" "Come--that's a concession to our charms!" Mary laughed. But the ruthless young man explained away his concession. "I mean that to be married's the only protection--or else to be engaged." "To be permanently engaged,--wouldn't that do?" Mary Gosselin asked. "Beautifully--I would try it if I were a _parti_." "And how's the little boy?" Mrs. Gosselin presently inquired. "What little boy?" "Your little cousin--Lord Beaupré's child: isn't it a boy?" "Oh, poor little beggar, he isn't up to much. He was awfully cut up by scarlet fever." "You're not the rose indeed, but you're tolerably near it," the elder lady presently continued. "What do you call near it? Not even in the same garden--not in any garden at all, alas!" "There are three lives--but after all!" "Dear lady, don't be homicidal!" "What do you call the 'rose'?" Mary asked of her mother. "The title," said Mrs. Gosselin, promptly but softly. Something in her tone made Firminger laugh aloud. "You don't mention the property." "Oh, I mean the whole thing." "Is the property very large?" said Mary Gosselin. "Fifty thousand a year," her mother responded; at which the young man laughed out again.