Sir John Meredith and his son stood in silence, looking around them. Finally their eyes met. “Are you in earnest with that girl?” asked Sir John abruptly. “I am,” replied Jack. He was smiling pleasantly. “And you think there is a chance of her marrying you--unless, of course, something better turns up?” “With all due modesty I do.” Sir John's hand was at his mouth. He stood up his full six feet two and looked hard at his son, whose eyes were level with his own. They were ideal representatives of their school. “And what do you propose marrying upon? She, I understand, has about eight hundred a year. I respect you too much to suspect any foolish notions of love in a cottage.” Jack Meredith made no reply. He was entirely dependent upon his father. “Of course,” said Sir John, “when I die you will be a baronet, and there will be enough to live on like a gentleman. You had better tell Miss Chyne that. She may not know it. Girls are so innocent. But I am not dead yet, and I shall take especial care to live some time.” “In order to prevent my marriage?” suggested Jack. He was still smiling, and somehow Sir John felt a little uneasy. He did not understand that smile. “Precisely so,” he said, rather indistinctly. “What is your objection?” inquired Jack Meredith, after a little pause. “I object to the girl.” “Upon what grounds?” “I should prefer you to marry a woman of heart.” “Heart?” repeated Jack, with a suspicion of hereditary cynicism. “I do not think heart is of much consequence. Besides, in this case, surely that is my province! you would not have her wear it on her sleeve?” “She could not do that: not enough sleeve.” Sir John Meredith had his own views on ladies' dress. “But,” he added, “we will not quarrel. Arrange matters with the young lady as best you can. I shall never approve of such a match, and without my approval you cannot well marry.” “I do not admit that.” “Indeed?” “Your approval means money,” explained this dutiful son politely. “I might manage to make the money for myself.” Sir John moved away. “You might,” he admitted, looking back. “I should be very glad to see you doing so. It is an excellent thing--money.” And he walked leisurely away. CHAPTER III. A FAREWELL Since called The Paradise of Fools, to few unknown.