There was a shade of dissatisfaction on John Stanburne's face as he concluded this little speech about himself. He did not seem to anticipate the arrival of the new team with pleasure unalloyed. The price, perhaps, may have been somewhat heavy--somewhat beyond his means. That London friend of his was a sporting character, with an ardent appreciation of horse-flesh in the abstract, and an elevated ideal. When he purchased for friends, which he was sometimes commissioned to do, he became truly a servant of the Ideal, and sought out only such realities as a servant of the Ideal might contemplate with feelings of satisfaction. These realities were always very costly--they always considerably exceeded the pecuniary limits which had been assigned to him. This was his only fault; he purchased well, and none of the purchase-money, either directly or indirectly, found its way into his own pocket. The Colonel did not dwell, as he might have been expected to do, upon the subject of the horses--he returned almost immediately to that of matrimonial alliances. "It's not very difficult to make a guess at the cause of Mr. Stedman's opposition. Bardly tells me he's a most tremendous Protestant, earnest to a degree, and you, my dear fellow, happen to be a Catholic. You'll have to let yourself be converted, I'm afraid, if you really want the girl." "A man cannot change his faith, when he has one, because it is his interest to do so. I would rather you did not talk about that subject--at least, in that strain. You know my views; you know that nothing would induce me to profess any other views." "Bardly tells me he doesn't think Stedman will give in, so long as you remain a Catholic." "Very well."