"Why don't I? Or why doesn't my uncle? My uncle is a temperamental
conservative, a devotee to his traditions--the sort of man who will
never do anything that hasn't been the constant habit of his forebears.
He would no more dream of healing a well-established family feud than of
selling the family plate. And I--well, surely, it would never be for me
to make the advances."

"No, you're right," acknowledged Lady Blanchemain. "The advances should
come from her. But people have such a fatal way--even without being
temperamental conservatives--of leaving things as they find them.
Besides, never having seen you, she couldn't know how nice you are. All
the same, I'll confess, if you insist upon it, that she ought to be
ashamed of herself. Come--let's make it up."

She rose, a great soft glowing vision of benignancy, and held out her
hand, now gloveless, her pretty little smooth plump right hand, with
its twinkling rings.

"Oh!" cried the astonished young man, the astonished, amused, moved,
wondering, and entirely won young man, his sea-blue eyes wide open, and
a hundred lights of pleasure and surprise dancing in them.

The benignant vision floated towards him, and he took the little white
hand in his long lean brown one.




VIII