“Thank you, I know that sort! but they wouldn’t suit me. I’m not looking for a manageress, or a housekeeper, what I want is a beauty who makes everyone turn round, and stare at her.” “Ah!” exclaimed Mrs. Blagdon, and she relapsed into silence. Hugo’s choice might have been much worse. To tell the truth, she had always anticipated that a lady from the boards of the Jollity Theatre would be her future daughter-in-law. “And when is it to be?” she asked at last. “I am going straight home now to propose for her. I’ll get it fixed up as soon as the trousseau is in hand. I’d like to spend May on the Italian lakes.” “You seem pretty sure of her, my dear Hugo.” “I’m sure of her aunt, and that comes to the same thing; the girl has never been allowed to have a will of her own, and wouldn’t say boo to a goose.” “I shouldn’t have thought that was your style. However, I am thankful that your future wife will be a _lady_. She has good blood in her veins, and no doubt will develop; the one great drawback in my opinion is, that she is too young.” “Well, there’s something in that, you know,” he replied. “She has no past--hasn’t had time to have one.” “No, and most of your lady friends have not one--but half a dozen.” “I suppose you won’t be home before June?” ignoring this thrust. “Oh, I will return for the wedding, of course. A daughter-in-law is an important interest. You will let me hear how things go, won’t you?” “Yes, and I must be off now, as I’m leaving by the evening train. Good-bye, old lady,” and he touched her forehead with his lips, stepped out into the verandah, and so disappeared. Precisely a fortnight later, Mrs. Blagdon received the following telegram: “All settled, date May 20th, Hugo.” CHAPTER XII The news in the telegram was authentic. Blagdon’s determination and her aunt’s strong support, had overborne Letty’s reluctance, and almost in spite of herself, she was about to make what is called ‘a great match.’ When the suitor appeared at The Holt, and laid his intentions and hopes before Mrs. Fenchurch, it was with difficulty that the lady could conceal her satisfaction. With suppressed emotion, she assured her would-be nephew, that he had her own and her husband’s warmest goodwill: to which he rejoined with a nonchalant laugh: “Oh yes--of course--that’s all right; but what about Miss Glyn?” “Letty is in absolute ignorance of her conquest,” replied the lady with measured emphasis. “She is only seventeen, very, very shy and innocent; if you startle or frighten her, nothing on earth would induce her to marry you. She is not worldly in any sense, and all the splendid fairy tale things you can bestow, will not appeal to her, as they would to other girls.” Blagdon made no reply; he was standing with his back to the fire, looking down thoughtfully on his irreproachable boots. Suddenly he raised his eyes and fixed them on his companion, with an expression of insolent incredulity.