“Gentlewomen,” said Lady Staines, firmly, “unless their father’s behavior prevents them from being accepted.”

Winn said nothing. He got up and began cutting ham at the sideboard. His mother hesitated a moment; but as she had only roused one of her men, she made a further effort in the direction of the other.

“The girl’s a mean-spirited little liar,” she observed. “I wouldn’t take her as a housemaid.”

“You may have to take her as a daughter-in-law, though,” Winn remarked without turning round from the sideboard.

Sir Peter grunted. He didn’t like this at all, but he couldn’t very well say so without appearing to agree with his wife, a thing he had carefully avoided doing for thirty years.

Lady Staines rose and gathered up her letters.

“You’re of age,” she said to her son, “and you’ve had about as much experience of civilized women as a European baby has of crocodiles, and you’ll be just about as safe and clever with them. As for you, Peter, pray don’t trouble to tell me what you think of the Fanshawes in a year’s time. You’ve never had a tenant you haven’t had a lawsuit with yet, and this time you’ll be adding Winn’s divorce proceedings to your other troubles. I should think you might begin to save toward the damages now.”

Sir Peter’s oaths accompanied his wife across the dining-room to the door, which her son opened ceremoniously for her. Their eyes crossed like swords.

“If I get that girl, you’ll be nice to her,” Winn said in a low voice.

“As long as you are,” replied Lady Staines, with a grim smile. He did not bang the door after her, as she had hoped; instead, he went to see the girl.

It was eleven o’clock when Winn arrived at the Fanshawes. Estelle was barely dressed, she always slept late, had her breakfast in bed, and gave as much trouble as possible to the servants.

However, when she heard who had called to see her, she sent for a basket and some roses, and five minutes later strolled into the drawing-room, with her hat on, and the flowers in her hands.

Her mother stayed in the garden and nervously thought out the lunch.

Winn seized the basket out of Estelle’s hands, took her by the wrists, and drew her to the window.

She wasn’t frightened of him, but she pretended to be. She said, “Oh, Major Staines!” She looked as soft and innocent as a cream-fed kitten. Winn cleared his throat. It made him feel rather religious to look at her. He did not of course see her as a kitten; he saw her approximately as an angel.

“Look here,” he said, “my name’s Winn.”

“You’re hurting my wrists,” she murmured. He dropped them. “Winn,” she said under her breath.

“I say,” he said after a moment’s pause, “would you mind marrying me?”

Estelle lifted her fine China blue eyes to his. They weren’t soft, but they could sometimes look very mysterious.

“Oh,” she said, “but, Winn – it’s so sudden – so soon!”

“Leave’s short,” Winn explained, “and besides, I knew the moment I looked at you, I wanted you. I don’t know how you feel, of course; but – well – I’m sure you aren’t the kind of girl to let a fellow kiss you, are you, and mean nothing?”

Estelle’s long lashes swept her cheeks; she behaved exquisitely. She was, of course, exactly that kind of girl.

“Ah,” she said, with a little tremble in her voice, “if I do marry you – will you be kind to me?”

Winn trembled, too; he flushed very red, and suddenly he did the funniest, most unlikely thing in the world: he got down on his knees beside her, and taking both her hands in his, he kissed them.

“I’ll be like this as much as ever you’ll let me,” he said gravely.

He had a great craving for sweetness, delicacy, and gentleness; he began to tell her in little short, abrupt sentences how unworthy he was of her, not fit to touch her really – he was afraid he’d been horribly rough – and done lots of things she would have hated (he forgot to mention that he’d ever done anything worth doing as well); he explained that he didn’t know any women a bit like her; there weren’t any, of course, really like – but she knew what he meant. So that he expected she’d have to teach him a lot – would she – if she didn’t mind, and overlook his being stupid?

Estelle listened thoughtfully for a few minutes, then she asked him if he didn’t think eight bridesmaids would be better than four?

He got up from his knees then.

He didn’t like discussing the wedding, and he got bored very soon and went away, so that Mrs. Fanshawe didn’t need to have the special lunch she had ordered, after all.

They were to have a very short engagement, and Estelle decided on four bridesmaids and four pages; she was so small herself that children would look prettier and more innocent.

There was something particularly charming about a young wedding, and they were to have a celebration first – Estelle was most particular about that – and a wedding breakfast afterwards of course. Winn was extraordinarily kind to her; he let her settle everything she liked and gave her exactly the ring she wanted – an immense emerald set with diamonds. He wasn’t in the least particular about where they spent the honeymoon, after making a very silly suggestion, which Estelle promptly over-ruled, that they might go to the East Coast and make a study of fortifications.

He agreed that London would do just as well, with theaters, and he could look up a man he knew at the War Office. Certainly they should go to the Ritz if Estelle liked it; but it was rather noisy.

The one point he did make was to have a young officer he liked, who had been with him in China, Lionel Drummond, as his best man, instead of his cousin Lord Arlington. His brothers were out of the question, as he couldn’t have one without having a row with the other. Estelle wanted Lord Arlington, but when she pressed the point, Winn gave her a most extraordinary sharp look and said, “I thought I told you I wanted that boy Drummond?” It was a most peculiar and disconcerting look, well known in the Staines family. Trouble usually followed very quickly upon its heels. Estelle shivered and gave in and was rewarded by a diamond brooch.

This showed her how important shivering was going to be in her married life.

The only really disagreeable time Estelle had during her engagement was the short half hour in which Lady Staines fulfilled her maternal duties.

It was a rainy day and Lady Staines had walked two miles across the fields in what looked like a cricket cap, and a waterproof.

She cleaned her boots as carefully as she could in the hall. They were square-toed and hob-nailed and most unsuitable for a drawing-room.

Mrs. Fanshawe literally quailed before them. “You shouldn’t have parquet floors,” Lady Staines remarked, holding out her hand; “in the country, it’s the ruin of them unless you wear paper soles,” she glanced searchingly at Mrs. Fanshawe’s and Estelle’s feet. “And that of course is the ruin of your feet. Probably you’ve lived in London all your lives?”

Mrs. Fanshawe found herself in the position of apologizing for what had hitherto been her proudest boast. Lady Staines looked tolerantly around her. “London’s a poor place,” she observed, “and very shoddy. When my friends the Malverns lived here, they had old oak and rather nice chintzes. I see you go in for color schemes and nicknacks. I hope Estelle won’t find Staines uncomfortable; however, she probably won’t be with us often.”

She turned to her future daughter-in-law. “You are Estelle, my dear, ain’t you?” she demanded. “And I dare say you can’t speak a word of French in spite of your fine name. Can you?”

Estelle hesitated and blushed. “Not very much, I’m afraid,” she truthfully murmured. It flashed through her mind that with Lady Staines you must be truthful if there was any possible chance of your being found out.