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 "I have my duty to consider," announced Lady Drewitt. "You must marry."

"Marriage, my dear aunt, is like the tint of one's pyjamas, an intensely personal affair. One person's happiness is achieved by spots, another's by a monotone, suggestive of dungaree overalls; personally my taste runs to stripes of delicate tints. You, on your part, may prefer"

"Don't be indelicate, Drewitt. I was talking about Miss Craven, not—not night-wear. There is the title"

"There is, indeed," agreed Drewitt mournfully. "I am never permitted to forget it. If I go to a hotel it means a hundred per cent. on the bill, and if I dine at a restaurant, it means half-a-crown instead of a shilling to the man who takes my hat, with at least five shillings to the waiter. No wonder democracy is abroad."

"You cannot complain of her appearance," announced Lady Drewitt.

"I never have," was the reply. "Democracy is the only hope of the House of Lords. It"

"I was referring to Miss Craven," said Lady Drewitt severely. "Are you going to marry her?"

"Was I expected to propose at breakfast?" he asked innocently.

"Do you like her?" Lady Drewitt had a habit of ignoring her nephew's flippancy. At first she had endeavoured to combat it; but the discovery that she was invariably discomfited had caused her to change her tactics.