"Mrs. Dallow has been so good as to say she'll marry me," Nick returned. "That's very suitable. I should think it would answer." "It's very jolly," said Nick. It was well Mr. Carteret was not what his guest called observant, or he might have found a lower pitch in the sound of this sentence than in the sense. "Your dear father would have liked it." "So my mother says." "And _she_ must be delighted." "Mrs. Dallow, do you mean?" Nick asked. "I was thinking of your mother. But I don't exclude the charming lady. I remember her as a little girl. I must have seen her at Windrush. Now I understand the fine spirit with which she threw herself into your canvass." "It was her they elected," said Nick. "I don't know," his host went on, "that I've ever been an enthusiast for political women, but there's no doubt that in approaching the mass of electors a graceful, affable manner, the manner of the real English lady, is a force not to be despised." "Julia's a real English lady and at the same time a very political woman," Nick remarked. "Isn't it rather in the family? I remember once going to see her mother in town and finding the leaders of both parties sitting with her." "My principal friend, of the others, is her brother Peter. I don't think he troubles himself much about that sort of thing," said Nick. "What does he trouble himself about?" Mr. Carteret asked with a certain gravity. "He's in the diplomatic service; he's a secretary in Paris." "That may be serious," said the old man. "He takes a great interest in the theatre. I suppose you'll say that may be serious too," Nick laughed. "Oh!"--and Mr. Carteret looked as if he scarcely understood. Then he continued; "Well, it can't hurt you." "It can't hurt me?" "If Mrs. Dallow takes an interest in your interests." "When a man's in my situation he feels as if nothing could hurt him." "I'm very glad you're happy," said Mr. Carteret. He rested his mild eyes on our young man, who had a sense of seeing in them for a moment the faint ghost of an old story, the last strange flicker, as from cold ashes, of a flame that had become the memory of a memory. This glimmer of wonder and envy, the revelation of a life intensely celibate, was for an instant infinitely touching. Nick had harboured a theory, suggested by a vague allusion from his father, who had been discreet, that their benevolent friend had had in his youth an unhappy love-affair which had led him to forswear for ever the commerce of woman. What remained in him of conscious renunciation gave a throb as he looked at his bright companion, who proposed to take the matter so much the other way. "It's good to marry and I think it's right. I've not done right, I know that. If she's a good woman it's the best thing," Mr. Carteret went on. "It's what I've been hoping for you. Sometimes I've thought of speaking to you." "She's a very good woman," said Nick. "And I hope she's not poor." Mr. Carteret spoke exactly with the same blandness.