“They are not engaged,” said Mr. Wentworth.  “I have no reason to suppose they are engaged.”

“Par exemple!” cried Felix.  “A clandestine engagement?  Trust me, Clifford, as I say, is a charming boy.  He is incapable of that.  Lizzie Acton, then, would not be jealous of another woman.”

“I certainly hope not,” said the old man, with a vague sense of jealousy being an even lower vice than a love of liquor.

“The best thing for Clifford, then,” Felix propounded, “is to become interested in some clever, charming woman.”  And he paused in his painting, and, with his elbows on his knees, looked with bright communicativeness at his uncle.  “You see, I believe greatly in the influence of women.  Living with women helps to make a man a gentleman.  It is very true Clifford has his sisters, who are so charming.  But there should be a different sentiment in play from the fraternal, you know.  He has Lizzie Acton; but she, perhaps, is rather immature.”

“I suspect Lizzie has talked to him, reasoned with him,” said Mr. Wentworth.

“On the impropriety of getting tipsy—­on the beauty of temperance?  That is dreary work for a pretty young girl.  No,” Felix continued; “Clifford ought to frequent some agreeable woman, who, without ever mentioning such unsavory subjects, would give him a sense of its being very ridiculous to be fuddled.  If he could fall in love with her a little, so much the better.  The thing would operate as a cure.”

“Well, now, what lady should you suggest?” asked Mr. Wentworth.

“There is a clever woman under your hand.  My sister.”

“Your sister—­under my hand?” Mr. Wentworth repeated.

“Say a word to Clifford.  Tell him to be bold.  He is well disposed already; he has invited her two or three times to drive.  But I don’t think he comes to see her.  Give him a hint to come—­to come often.  He will sit there of an afternoon, and they will talk.  It will do him good.”

Mr. Wentworth meditated.  “You think she will exercise a helpful influence?”

“She will exercise a civilizing—­I may call it a sobering—­influence.  A charming, clever, witty woman always does—­especially if she is a little of a coquette.  My dear uncle, the society of such women has been half my education.  If Clifford is suspended, as you say, from college, let Eugenia be his preceptress.”

Mr. Wentworth continued thoughtful.  “You think Eugenia is a coquette?” he asked.

“What pretty woman is not?” Felix demanded in turn.  But this, for Mr. Wentworth, could at the best have been no answer, for he did not think his niece pretty.  “With Clifford,” the young man pursued, “Eugenia will simply be enough of a coquette to be a little ironical.  That ’s what he needs.  So you recommend him to be nice with her, you know.  The suggestion will come best from you.”

“Do I understand,” asked the old man, “that I am to suggest to my son to make a—­a profession of—­of affection to Madame Munster?”