"Well, Auntie mine?" *CHAPTER VIII* Lady Elizabeth watched Jim with curiosity. The voice from the drawing-room grew louder: "Tout casse, tout passé—" deeper grew Jim’s voice as he softly sang the refrain. Quite abruptly Lady Elizabeth began: "She’s a fine woman, Jim." As she spoke, Jim caught sight of Diana crossing to the piano in smiling approbation as the song ceased, and answered: "Diana?" "Diana! Nonsense!" Again she watched Jim’s face, but its grave serenity gave no sign. "I mean Mrs. Hobart Chichester Chichester Jones. She’s quite the type that men admire, is she not?" "That’s the most offensive thing that one woman can say about another," Jim laughingly replied, as he turned from watching the group in the music-room—"isn’t it, Auntie?" "Not at all." Lady Elizabeth fidgeted; he was making it exceedingly difficult, she thought, as he leaned over her, his laughing eyes teasing her. "The sensible view of things never appeals to you, Jim; so I have hesitated to remind you that Sadie Jones is exceedingly rich." "Did you notice how deferential I was, Aunt?" Jim lightly interrupted. "Why, if you tell me more, I shall scarcely dare to speak to her." He drew Lady Elizabeth’s arm through his; he knew what was coming. It amused him, and it also irritated him a little, but he felt very tender towards his aunt. All the boyish hurt had been forgotten. Her great endurance of Henry’s conduct, her indomitable resolution to keep him well placed in the eyes of men, deeply touched him. After all, in her devotion to Henry there was a magnificent capacity for self-surrender. During the past winter Jim had grown strangely attached to his aunt, and a great pity for the inevitable tragedy of her life lay deep in his thoughts of the proud old woman. He patted her hand caressingly. With almost a note of despair she said, "And I invited her here for this visit especially for you, Jim." "Do you think she would care to add to her already abundant collection of names?" He would not be serious, but Lady Elizabeth took up his question literally. "I think she would be very glad to ally herself with one of the great families of England. Besides," she continued, as there was no reply, "such a marriage would put you in a position to be of great service to Henry and the family." Jim distinctly saw Henry’s purpose in this appeal. It sickened him—this cold, devilish selfishness that made his cousin use all things as a means to further his own ends. His spirit rose in revolt against his aunt, who, he now saw, was seriously asking so grave a sacrifice of him. How lightly they played with human destinies! Then he conquered his sudden passion. He spoke in a tone of affectionate banter.