“Well, Woodward, what do you think of Tom?” asked his lordship.

“Why, my lord, that she is an admirable and lovely girl.”

“Well, you are right, sir; Tom is an admirable girl, and loves her old uncle as if he was her father, or maybe a great deal better; she will have all I am worth when I pop off, so there’s something for you to think upon.”

“No man, my lord, capable of appreciate ing her could think of anything but herself.”

“What! not of her property?”

“Property, my-lord; is a very secondary subject when taken into consideration with the merits of the lady herself.  I am no enemy to property, and I admit its importance as an element of happiness when reasonably applied, but I am neither sordid nor selfish; and I know how little, after all, it contributes to domestic enjoyment, unless accompanied by those virtues which constitute the charm of connubial life.”

“Confound me but you must have got that out of a book, Woodward.”

“Out of the best book, my lord—­the book of life and observation.”

“Why, curse it, you are talking philosophy, though.”

“Only common sense, my lord.”

His lordship, who was walking to and fro in the room, turned abruptly round, looked keenly at him, and then, addressing Mrs. Lindsay, said,—­

“Why, upon my soul, Mrs. Lindsay, we must try and do something with this fellow; he’ll be lost to the world if we don’t.  Come, I say, we must make a public man of him.”

“To become a public man is his own ambition, my lord,” replied Mrs. Lindsay; “and although I am his mother, and may feel prejudiced in his favor, still I agree with your lordship that it is a pity to see such abilities as his unemployed.”

“Well, madam, we shall consider of it.  What do you think, Woodward, if we made a bailiff of you?”

At this moment Miss Riddle entered the room just in time to hear the question.

“The very thing, my lord; and the first capture I should make would be Miss Riddle, your fair niece here.”

“Curse me, but the fellow’s a cat,” said the peer, laughing.  “Throw him as you will, he always falls upon his legs.  What do you think, Tom?  Curse me but your suitor here talked philosophy in your absence.”

“Only common sense, Miss Riddle,” said Harry.  “Philosophy, it is said, excludes feeling; but that is not a charge which I ever heard brought against common sense.”

“I am an enemy neither to philosophy nor common sense,” replied his niece, “because I think neither of them incompatible with feeling; but I certainly prefer common sense.”

“There’s luncheon announced,” said the peer, rubbing his hands, “and that’s a devilish deal more comfortable than either of them.  Come, Mrs. Lindsay; Woodward, take Tom with you.”

They then descended to the dining-room, where the conversation was lively and amusing, the humorous old peer furnishing the greater proportion of the mirth.