Mary Gosselin reminded him, they each in turn reminded him that his safeguard was to fall in love: were he once to put himself under that protection all the mothers and maids in Mayfair would not prevail against him. He replied that this was just the impossibility; it took leisure and calmness and opportunity and a free mind to fall in love, and never was a man less open to such experiences. He was literally fighting his way. He reminded the girl of his old fancy for pretending already to have disposed of his hand if he could put that hand on a young person who should like him well enough to be willing to participate in the fraud. She would have to place herself in rather a false position of course--have to take a certain amount of trouble; but there would after all be a good deal of fun in it (there was always fun in duping the world,) between the pair themselves, the two happy comedians. "Why should they both be happy?" Mary Gosselin asked. "I understand why you should; but, frankly, I don't quite grasp the reason of _her_ pleasure." Lord Beaupré, with his sunny human eyes, thought a moment. "Why, for the lark, as they say, and that sort of thing. I should be awfully nice to her." "She would require indeed to be in want of recreation!" "Ah, but I should want a good sort--a quiet, reasonable one, you know!" he somewhat eagerly interposed. "You're too delightful!" Mary Gosselin exclaimed, continuing to laugh. He thanked her for this appreciation, and she returned to her point--that she didn't really see the advantage his accomplice could hope to enjoy as her compensation for extreme disturbance. Guy Firminger stared. "But what extreme disturbance?" "Why, it would take a lot of time; it might become intolerable." "You mean I ought to pay her--to hire her for the season?" Mary Gosselin considered him a moment. "Wouldn't marriage come cheaper at once?" she asked with a quieter smile. "You _are_ chaffing me!" he sighed forgivingly. "Of course she would have to be good-natured enough to pity me." "Pity's akin to love. If she were good-natured enough to want so to help you she'd be good-natured enough to want to marry you. That would be _her_ idea of help." "Would it be _yours_?" Lord Beaupré asked rather eagerly. "You're too absurd! You must sail your own boat!" the girl answered, turning away. That evening at dinner she stated to her companions that she had never seen a fatuity so dense, so serene, so preposterous as his lordship's. "Fatuity, my dear! what do you mean?" her mother inquired. "Oh, mamma, you know perfectly." Mary Gosselin spoke with a certain impatience. "If you mean he's conceited I'm bound to say I don't agree with you," her brother observed. "He's too indifferent to everyone's opinion for that." "He's not vain, he's not proud, he's not pompous," said Mrs. Gosselin. Mary was silent a moment. "He takes more things for granted than anyone I ever saw." "What sort of things?"