‘I think I see your meaning,’ said he, ’and I’ll try.  You think that pity—­and the kindred sentiments—­have the greatest power upon the heart.  I think more nobly of women.  To my view, the man they love will first of all command their respect; he will be steadfast--proud, if you please; dry, possibly—­but of all things steadfast.  They will look at him in doubt; at last they will see that stern face which he presents to all the rest of the world soften to them alone.  First, trust, I say.  It is so that a woman loves who is worthy of heroes.’

‘Your man is very ambitious, sir,’ said I, ’and very much of a hero!  Mine is a humbler, and, I would fain think, a more human dog.  He is one with no particular trust in himself, with no superior steadfastness to be admired for, who sees a lady’s face, who hears her voice, and, without any phrase about the matter, falls in love.  What does he ask for, then, but pity?—­pity for his weakness, pity for his love, which is his life.  You would make women always the inferiors, gaping up at your imaginary lover; he, like a marble statue, with his nose in the air!  But God has been wiser than you; and the most steadfast of your heroes may prove human, after all.  We appeal to the queen for judgment,’ I added, turning and bowing before Flora.

‘And how shall the queen judge?’ she asked.  ’I must give you an answer that is no answer at all.  “The wind bloweth where it listeth”:  she goes where her heart goes.’

Her face flushed as she said it; mine also, for I read in it a declaration, and my heart swelled for joy.  But Chevenix grew pale.

‘You make of life a very dreadful kind of lottery, ma’am,’ said he.  ’But I will not despair.  Honest and unornamental is still my choice.’

And I must say he looked extremely handsome and very amusingly like the marble statue with its nose in the air to which I had compared him.

‘I cannot imagine how we got upon this subject,’ said Flora.

‘Madame, it was through the war,’ replied Chevenix.

‘All roads lead to Rome,’ I commented.  ’What else would you expect Mr. Chevenix and myself to talk of?’

About this time I was conscious of a certain bustle and movement in the room behind me, but did not pay to it that degree of attention which perhaps would have been wise.  There came a certain change in Flora’s face; she signalled repeatedly with her fan; her eyes appealed to me obsequiously; there could be no doubt that she wanted something—­as well as I could make out, that I should go away and leave the field clear for my rival, which I had not the least idea of doing.  At last she rose from her chair with impatience.

‘I think it time you were saying good-night, Mr Ducie!’ she said.

I could not in the least see why, and said so.

Whereupon she gave me this appalling answer, ’My aunt is coming out of the card-room.’

In less time than it takes to tell, I had made my bow and my escape.  Looking back from the doorway, I was privileged to see, for a moment, the august profile and gold eyeglasses of Miss Gilchrist issuing from the card-room; and the sight lent me wings.  I stood not on the order of my going; and a moment after, I was on the pavement of Castle Street, and the lighted windows shone down on me, and were crossed by ironical shadows of those who had remained behind.