“Have you succeeded in floating your chartered Thelema Company?” asked Sylvester, with a smile. “Oh, damn the Colony! That is to say, comparatively damn the Colony. You behold in me the happiest man on earth, engaged to the sweetest and loveliest girl in the world. And the Colony's in it for something. So I ought to have said 'thrice bless the Colony.'” Sylvester started in his chair. “You are not referring to Miss Defries?” “I am so.” “I must offer you my congratulations,” said Sylvester, recovering composure. Then despising himself for a momentary pang, which he could not explain to himself, he added: “I am sure she will make you an excellent wife.” “An excellent wife! Hear him, ye gods! As who should say, 'You will find this a most serviceable umbrella!' She's the dewy dawn of all things sweet to live for!” “My habit of mind is more prosaic than yours,” laughed Sylvester. “But I think I am none the less accurate. Is Miss Defries going also to Thelema?” “That is the present intention. But plans are but frail barks upon the capricious sea of time.” “I see,” said Sylvester. “Now I understand your condemnation of the Colony.” “No, no; I am sure you don't,” put in Roderick, hastily. “Well, never mind,” said Sylvester. “Have you obtained my fathers consent?” “Mr. Lanyon's consent? What for?” “The marriage.” “But Ella is overage,--her own mistress.” “Still, she must not marry without my father's consent, or she loses her money.” Roderick swept his hand in a magnificent gesture. “The money's neither here nor there. But of course your father will consent.” “He's the dearest old man God ever made,” said Sylvester, in his grave way; “but he has queer crotchets now and then.” “But this is the end of the nineteenth century,” laughed Roderick. “I don't deny it. The other is a fact, all the same. The late Mr. Defries's will is valid. Appointing my father trustee for his daughter Ella, it provides for his administration of the estate until either her marriage with his consent or his own death, whichever is first. On either of these events, the whole money comes into her own keeping. If during his lifetime she marries without his written consent, the money all goes to some specified charity, I forget what it is.” “Well, I never heard of such a damned silly will in all my life,” said Roderick, falling, into the vernacular. “It only shows one man's implicit trust in the honour of another.” “And how much does it all run to?” asked Roderick, casually. “I haven't the remotest idea,” replied Sylvester. “It never entered my head to inquire.” Roderick took a few quick turns about the room, then he laughed in his buoyant way.