“My feet are a tiny bit cold,” she said plaintively, giving him her foot, that seemed like gold in the yellow silk stocking. He took it between his hands, stroking it: “It is quite cold,” he said, and he held both her feet in his hands. “Ah, you dear boy!” she cried with sudden gentleness, bending forward and touching his cheek. “Is it great fun being mine host of ‘Ye Ramme Inne?’” she said playfully to George. There seemed a long distance between them now as she sat, with the man in evening dress crouching before her putting golden shoes on her feet. “It is rather,” he replied, “the men in the smoke room say such rum things. My word, you hear some tales there.” “Tell us, do!” she pleaded. “Oh! I couldn’t. I never could tell a tale, and even if I could—well——” “But I do long to hear,” she said, “what the men say in the smoke room of ‘Ye Ramme Inne.’ Is it quite untellable?” “Quite!” he laughed. “What a pity! See what a cruel thing it is to be a woman, Leslie: we never know what men say in smoke rooms, while you read in your novels everything a woman ever uttered. It is a shame! George, you are a wretch, you should tell me. I do envy you——.” “What do you envy me, exactly?” he asked laughing always at her whimsical way. “Your smoke room. The way you see life—or the way you hear it, rather.” “But I should have thought you saw life ten times more than me,” he replied. “I! I only see manners—good manners and bad manners. You know ‘manners maketh a man.’ That’s when a woman’s there. But you wait awhile, you’ll see.” “When shall I see?” asked George, flattered and interested. “When you have made the fortune you talked about,” she replied. He was uplifted by her remembering the things he had said. “But when I have made it—when!”—he said sceptically,—“even then—well, I shall only be, or have been, landlord of ‘Ye Ramme Inne.’” He looked at her, waiting for her to lift up his hopes with her gay balloons. “Oh, that doesn’t matter! Leslie might be landlord of some Ram Inn when he’s at home, for all anybody would know—mightn’t you, hubby, dear?” “Thanks!” replied Leslie, with good humoured sarcasm. “You can’t tell a publican from a peer, if he’s a rich publican,” she continued. “Money maketh the man, you know.” “Plus manners,” added George, laughing. “Oh they are always there—where I am. I give you ten years. At the end of that time you must invite us to your swell place—say the Hall at Eberwich—and we will come—‘with all our numerous array.’” She sat among her cushions smiling upon him. She was half ironical, half sincere. He smiled back at her, his dark eyes full of trembling hope, and pleasure, and pride. “How is Meg?” she asked. “Is she as charming as ever—or have you spoiled her?” “Oh, she is as charming as ever,” he replied. “And we are tremendously fond of one another.” “That is right!—I do think men are delightful,” she added, smiling. “I am glad you think so,” he laughed.