“If it comes to that,” said Irene merrily, “men seem to me in much the same position.”

“Oh, it’s so different.  Girls—­women—­are good.  There’s nothing unpleasant to be known about them.”

“Upon my word, Eustace! On n’cest pas plus galant!  But I really feel it my duty to warn you against that amiable optimism.  If you were so kind as to be uneasy on my account, I shall be still more so on yours.  Your position, my dear boy, is a little perilous.”

Eustace laughed, not without some amiable confusion.  To give himself a countenance, he smote at pebbles with the head of his walking-stick.

“Oh, I shan’t marry for ages!”

“That shows rather more prudence than faith in your doctrine.”

“Never mind.  Our subject is Arnold Jacks.  He’s a splendid fellow.  The best and most sensible fellow I know.”

It was not the eulogy most agreeable to Irene in her present state of mind.  She hastened to dismiss the topic, but thought with no little surprise and amusement of Eustace’s self-revelation.  Brothers and sisters seldom know each other; and these two, by virtue of widely differing characteristics, were scarce more than mutually well-disposed strangers.

Less emphatic in commendation, Dr. Derwent appeared not less satisfied with his future son-in-law.  Irene’s scrutiny, sharpened by intense desire to read her father’s mind, could detect no qualification of his contentment.  As his habit was, the Doctor, having found an opportunity, broached the subject with humorous abruptness.

“It’s no business of mine; I don’t wish to be impertinent; but if I may be allowed to express approval——­”

Irene raised her eyes for a moment, bestowing upon him a look of affection and gratitude.

“He’s a thorough Englishman, and. that means a good deal in the laudatory sense.  The best sort of husband for an English girl, I’ve no manner of doubt.”

Dr. Derwent was not effusive; he had said as much as he cared to say on the more intimate aspect of the matter.  But he spoke long and carefully regarding things practical.  Irene had his entire confidence; nothing in the state of his affairs needed to be kept from her knowledge.  He spoke of the duty he owed to his two children respectively, and in sufficient detail of Arnold Jacks’ circumstances.  On the death of John Jacks (which the Doctor suspected was not remote) Arnold would be something more than a well-to-do man; his wife, if she aimed that way, might look for a social position such as the world envied.

“And on the whole,” he added, “as society must have leaders, I prefer that they should he people with brains as well as money.  The ambition is quite legitimate.  Do your part in civilising the drawing-room, as Arnold conceives he is doing his on a larger scale.  A good and intelligent woman is no superfluity in the world of wealth nowadays.”

Irene tried to believe that this ambition appealed to her.  Nay, at times it certainly did so, for she liked the brilliant and the commanding.  On the other hand, it seemed imperfect as an ideal of life.  In its undercurrents her thought was always more or less turbid.