“The first time I met him on neutral ground was at a dance,” said John.  “He looked very tall and nervous and lonely, and, of course, he was not dancing; but, nevertheless, he was the hero of the evening, or so Miss Sarah gave me to understand.  But you can imagine it for yourself.  The war just over, and a young fellow who has lost so much in it; the gallant nephew of the gallant Ferries; besides his own romantic name, and his eligibility.  I took him off to the National Gallery, to make acquaintance with the portrait of our cavalier ancestor there; and I declare there is a likeness.  Miss Sarah had visited it long ago, it appears.  For my part, I am glad to think that these fashionable young women can still be so enthusiastic about a wounded soldier.  Sarah said they were all wild to dance with him, and ready to shed tears for his lost arm.”

“And was he much with Sarah?”

John laughed and shrugged his shoulders.  “Miss Sarah is a star with many satellites.  She raised my hopes, however, by appearing to have a few smiles to spare for Peter.”

“And she must have got him the invitation to Tintern Castle,” said Lady Mary.  “That is why he went up to Scotland.”

“I see.”

“Then she got him another invitation, I suppose, for he went to the next house she stayed at; and to a third place for some yachting.”

“What did Lady Tintern say?”

“That’s just it.  Sarah is in Lady Tintern’s black books just now.  She is furious with her, Mrs. Hewel tells me, because she has refused Lord Avonwick.”

“Hum!” said John.  “He has forty thousand a year.”

“I don’t think money would tempt Sarah to marry a man she did not love,” said Lady Mary, reproachfully.  “There was Mr. Van Graaf, the African millionaire.  She wouldn’t look at him, and he offered to settle untold sums upon her.”

“Did he?  What a brute!”

“Why?”

“Never mind.  You’ve not seen him.  I’m glad he found Sarah wasn’t for sale.  But doesn’t all this look as if it were Peter, after all?”

“If only I could think she were in earnest,” Lady Mary said again.  “But he is such a boy.  She has three times his cleverness in some ways, and three times his experience, though she is younger than he.  I suppose women mature much earlier than men.  It galls my pride when she orders him about, and laughs at him.  But he—­he doesn’t understand.”

“Perhaps,” said John, slowly, “he understands better than you think.  Each generation has a freemasonry of its own.  I must confess I have heard scraps of chatter and chaff in ballrooms and theatres which have filled me with amazement, wondering how it could be possible that such poor stuff should pass muster as conversation, or coquetry, or gallantry, with the youths and maidens of to-day.  But when I have observed further, instead of an offended fair, or a disillusioned swain, behold! two young heads close together, two young faces sparkling with smiles and satisfaction.  And the older person, who would fatuously join in with a sensible remark, spoils all the enjoyment.  The fact is, the secret of real companionship is not quality, but equality.  There’s a punning platitude for you.”