Clement Yule took several steps; the effect of his host was the reverse of soothing; yet the latter watched his irritation as if it were the working of a charm. “Are you very sure of the ‘honour’ if I turn my political coat?” “You’ll only be turning it back again to the way it was always worn. Gossage will receive you with open arms and press you to a heaving Tory bosom. That bosom”--Mr. Prodmore followed himself up--“has never heaved but to sound Conservative principles. The cradle, as I’ve called it,--or at least the rich, warm coverlet,--of your race, Gossage was the political property, so to speak, of generations of your family. Stand therefore in the good old interest and you’ll stand like a lion.” “I’m afraid you mean,” Captain Yule laughed, “that I must first roar like one.” “Oh, _I’ll_ do the roaring!”--and Mr. Prodmore shook his mane. “Leave that to me.” “Then why the deuce don’t you stand yourself?” Mr. Prodmore knew so familiarly why! “Because I’m not a remarkably handsome young man with the grand old home and the right old name. Because I’m a different sort of matter altogether. But if I haven’t these advantages,” he went on, “you’ll do justice to my natural desire that my daughter at least shall have them.” Clement Yule watched himself smoke a minute. “Doing justice to natural desires is just what, of late, I’ve tried to make a study of. But I confess I don’t quite grasp the deep attraction you appear to discover in so large a surrender of your interests.” “My surrenders are my own affair,” Mr. Prodmore rang out, “and as for my interests, as I never, on principle, give anything for nothing, I dare say I may be trusted to know them when I see them. You come high--I don’t for a moment deny it; but when I look at you, in this pleasant, intimate way, my dear boy--if you’ll allow me so to describe things--I recognise one of those cases, unmistakeable when really met, in which one must put down one’s money. There’s not an article in the whole shop, if you don’t mind the comparison, that strikes me as better value. I intend you shall be, Captain,” Mr. Prodmore wound up in a frank, bold burst, “the true comfort of my life!” The young man was as hushed for a little as if an organ-tone were still in the air. “May I inquire,” he at last returned, “if Miss Prodmore’s ideas of comfort are as well defined--and in her case, I may add, as touchingly modest--as her father’s? Is she a responsible party of this ingenious arrangement?” Mr. Prodmore rendered homage--his appreciation was marked--to the elevated character of his young friend’s scruple. “Miss Prodmore, Captain Yule, may be perhaps best described as a large smooth sheet of blank, though gilt-edged, paper. No image of any tie but the true and perfect filial has yet, I can answer for it, formed itself on the considerable expanse. But for that image to be projected----” “I’ve only, in person, to appear?” Yule asked with an embarrassment that he tried to laugh off.