Radamanth could have winked, only in his present exalted frame of mind he remembered that such an expression was neither dignified nor courtly. If he were to become the associate of noble folk, it behoved him to raise up new ideals, and so he contented himself with a most ingenuous smile. "Hear, then," he said, "that my noble visitor was the Count Gorlois." "Gorlois!" "Exactly." Radamanth believed Igraine wholly overwhelmed. He waxed more and more patriarchal, till his very beard seemed to grow in dignity. "Believe me, a most honourable man. Gentlemen of his position might well fancy other methods--well, never mind that. Count Gorlois came to me, like a man, to frankly crave my sanction for a betrothal." Igraine stared, admired Gorlois's excellent plan for netting Faith, Hope, and Charity at one swoop, but said nothing. Radamanth prosed on. "Count Gorlois besought me in most courtly and flattering fashion to countenance him in his claims. He would have everything done in the light, he said, in honourable, manly, and open fashion--no secret loitering after dark, or sly kisses under hedges. Mark the gentleman, dear niece." The goldsmith idled over the words as though they were fat morsels of flattery, and Igraine had never seen him look so eminently happy before. She understood quite well that Gorlois's move had inspired him into complete and glowing partisanship, and that she was to have those sage words of advice that young folk love so much. Radamanth climbed down, meanwhile, to material things, and began to knock off Gorlois's possessions in practical fashion on his fingers. "A grand match," he said. "There are the castles in Cornwall--Terabil and Tintagel; the lands in Gore and elsewhere; the palace in London; and the great house here by the river. In Logria he has lands, I have heard,--miles of fat pastures, woods, and many manors, lying towards the great oaks of Brederwode. The man is as rich as any in Britain, and if death took Ambrosius or Uther--" Igraine cut in upon his verbosity. "What did you tell him, uncle?" Radamanth stared at her, with his fingers still figuring. "Tell him, child?" "Yes." "What a thing to ask. Of course I promised to further his cause with you in every way possible. I said we should soon need the priest." Igraine groaned in spirit. "It is all useless," she said. "What!" "I have no scrap of love for this man." Now Radamanth had never heard a word of Pelleas, for Igraine had cautioned Lilith never to speak to her father on the matter. Like many old people who have spent their lives in getting and possessing, he had lost that subtle something that men call "soul." Sentiment to him was a foolish and troublesome thing when it interfered with material advantage or profit, or barred out Mammon, with its rod twined with red roses. Consequently he was taken aback by Igraine's cool reception of so momentous a blessing. He sat bolt upright in his chair and stared at her. "My dear niece."