“Well?”

“Because he is an idler.”

“What would she say of me, then?” groaned Scoutbush.

“Very true; for, you must understand, this Mr. Stangrave is not what you or I should call an idle man.  He has travelled over half the world and made the best use of his eyes.  He has filled his house in New York, they say, with gems of art gathered from every country in Europe.  He is a finished scholar; talks half-a-dozen different languages, sings, draws, writes poetry, reads hard every day, at every subject, from gardening to German metaphysics—­altogether, one of the most highly cultivated men I know, and quite an Admirable Crichton in his way.”

“Then why does she call him an idler?”

“Because, she says, he has no great purpose in life.  She will marry no one who will not devote himself, and all he has, to some great, chivalrous, heroic enterprise; whose one object is to be of use, even if he has to sacrifice his life to it.  She says that there must be such men still left in the world; and that if she finds one, him she will marry, and no one else.”

“Why, there are none such to be found now-a-days, I thought?”

“You heard what she herself said on that very point.”

There was a silence for a minute or two.  Scout-bush had heard, and was pondering it in his heart.  At last,—­

“I am not cut out for a hero; so I suppose I must give her up.  But I wish sometimes I could be of use, Mrs. Mellot:  but what can a fellow do?”

“I thought there was an Irish tenantry to be looked after, my lord, and a Cornish tenantry too.”

“That’s what Campbell is always saying:  but what more can I do than I do?  As for those poor Paddies, I never ask them for rent; if I did, I should not get it; so there is no generosity in that.  And as for the Aberalva people, they have got on very well without me for twenty years; and I don’t know them, nor what they want; nor even if they do want anything, except fish enough, and I can’t put more fish into the sea, Mrs. Mellot?”

“Try and be a good soldier, then,” said she, laughing.  “Why should not Lord Scoutbush emulate his illustrious countryman, conquer at a second Waterloo, and die a duke?”

“I’m not cut out for a general, I am afraid; but if—­I don’t say if I could marry that woman—­I suppose it would be a foolish thing—­though I shall break my heart, I believe, if I do not.  Oh, Mrs. Mellot, you cannot tell what a fool I have made myself about her; and I cannot help it!  It’s not her beauty merely; but there is something so noble in her face, like one of those Greek goddesses Claude talks of; and when she is acting, if she has to say anything grand, or generous—­or—­you know the sort of thing,—­she brings it out with such a voice, and such a look, from the very bottom of her heart,—­it makes me shudder; just as she did when she told that Yankee, that every one could be a hero, or a martyr, if he chose.  Mrs. Mellot, I am sure she is one, or she could not look and speak as she does.”