“To join my regiment at Bombay; I am to be gazetted next week. I’m not going in bad disgrace, Arthur--don’t think that; but my brother, the Earl, twitted me with my folly and my expenditure, you know, and, no doubt, he was right. I have been a fool. A few years in the army will do a fellow good. There is no chance of war; that’s unfortunate.” They chatted and smoked until Arthur’s man came and carried the artist’s picture and materials away, and then they strolled together towards a farm where Lionel had put up his horse, and where Arthur had arranged to sleep. In the farmer’s clean-sanded parlour, Lionel told Arthur the story of his losses, not forgetting the incident of his interview with Paul Somerton. This, it seemed, had annoyed Lionel as much as anything in the whole of the unfortunate affair. He was satisfied that Miss Somerton had set her brother to watch him. “I could never have supposed that a girl could have behaved so absurdly. You may rely upon it, Arthur, that pretty bailiff’s daughter had set her mind on marrying me, and she was anxious that I should not get through my patrimony without her assistance, I suppose. Imagine the absurdity of the thing! The girl fancies I am in love with her.” “You have paid her great attention,” said Arthur. “Who doesn’t pay a pretty girl great attention, whoever she may be?” said Lionel. “You were in raptures with her picture--not out of compliment to the artist, but to the pretty face--the aristocratic head,” said Arthur, significantly. “Ah, you have anticipated me: I shall want that picture,” said Lionel, with assumed indifference; “but imagine a bailiff’s daughter setting her heart upon the next heir to the earldom of Verner, and making her brother a spy upon him lest he should lose too much money at cards. By Jove, Arthur, it was an impudent thing to do.” “Did she do it?” “Did she? Of course she did. Why, the impudent young blackguard told me who he was, as if he had some claim upon me.” “And so he had, if he was warning you against conspirators.” “Look at it in that light, perhaps he had; but what about the other view?” “She is a fine, handsome girl, Miss Somerton, and accomplished; she’s fit for the wife of a prince,” said Arthur, in his quiet, emphatic manner. “Why, what radicalism you are talking! Marry a bailiff’s daughter to a prince?” “A prince might be proud of such a wife as Amy Somerton. You have not seen so much of her as I have, and you may rely upon it you have wronged her.” “She’s an impudent, meddling baggage, Arthur--a presumptuous, designing woman,” said Lionel, with an angry flash of the eye. “I don’t think so, indeed,” said Arthur. “I am sure; therefore we will not discuss the point further. Miss Tallant would be a better theme.”