"I am glad you think so," was the brief answer. Though, by the
expression of the earl's face, Mr. Menteith clearly saw that, whether he
had thought it or not, the result would have been just the same. He
smiled a little to himself, but he did not dispute the matter. He knew
that one of the best qualities the earl possessed--most blessed and
useful to him, as it is to every human being--was the power of making
up his own mind, and acting upon it with that quiet resolution which is
quite distinct from obstinacy--obstinacy, usually the last
strong-hold of cowards, and the blustering self-defense of fools.

"There is but one objection to your plan, Lord Cairnforth. Miss
Cardross is young--twenty-six, I think."

"Twenty-five and a half."

"She may not remain always Miss Cardross. She may marry; and we can not
tell what sort of man her husband may be, or how fit to be trusted with
so large a property."

"So good a woman is not likely to choose a man unworthy of her," said
Lord Cairnforth, after a pause. "Still, could not my fortune be settled
upon herself as a life-rent, to descend intact to her heirs--that is,
her children?"

"My dear lord, how you must have thought over every thing!"

"You forget, my friend, I have nothing to do but to sit thinking."

There was a sad intonation in the voice which affected Mr. Menteith
deeply. He made no remark, but busied himself in drawing up the will,