"I don't understand these women." "No," said Mr. Walkingshaw, with jovial candor, "you'd be a bit of a stick with the sex, I can well imagine. You haven't the cut of a ladies' man: but it's all a matter of practice, my boy; just a matter of learning experience as you go along. What did she say to you?" Andrew was divided in mind. This tone exasperated him beyond measure. He felt inclined to leave the room. Yet, on the other hand, he judged himself ill-used by his betrothed, and when he had any ground of grievance, he had the pleasant habit of venting his complaints as long as his audience would listen to him. To-night the habit proved even stronger than his distaste for his high-spirited parent. "She was queer," said he. "They're all that," replied Mr. Walkingshaw knowingly. "The great thing is not to mind what they say. It's what they do that counts: and she'd be affectionate, I suppose, eh?" "I've never gone in for much of your spooning and kissing and that sort of thing," began Andrew. "The more fool you!" interrupted his parent. "What do you think a girl gets engaged for if it isn't to be cuddled?" He surprised himself by his own acumen. The late Mrs. W. had not been in the least that sort of lady, and he had never been engaged to anybody else; yet here he was laying down the law with the serenest confidence. Some divine instinct must be inspiring him. His son seemed less favorably impressed with his sagacity. "Ellen's not that sort of girl," said he. "My dear fellow, they're all that sort. At least, that's my view of the matter. Well, what's gone wrong?" "I don't know," said Andrew sourly. "I can't make her out. She's different somehow. It was almost as though she wasn't so fond of me." "Are you sure you've done nothing to annoy her? They're very touchy, you know." "I haven't done a thing to annoy her. I can swear to _that_." "Then," said Mr. Walkingshaw, with inspired conviction, "there's some other fellow cutting you out." Andrew started. "Who?" "Oh, I don't know all her neighbors. It's nobody she's met here, I suppose." "She never saw a man when she was here but Frank and me." "Then it's some one in Perthshire," pronounced Mr. Walkingshaw, emphatically but cheerfully. Andrew frowned at his still brimming glass. He trusted that he did not overvalue himself; at the same time, the idea of another being preferred by a girl who had once enjoyed the privilege of being engaged to Andrew Walkingshaw struck him as far-fetched. "I don't think it's another man," he said. "It's my opinion it is, Andrew; and I'm not wanting to lose so nice a daughter-in-law, so you've got to see that she doesn't turn round altogether. You've got to go in and win; make sure of her, my boy!" Mr. Walkingshaw grew more and more animated and his son more and more distressed. He was behaving so unlike the senior partner in Walkingshaw & Gilliflower. "What are you wanting me to do?"