Neither Lord Tancred nor Francis Markrute was late at the appointment in the city restaurant where they were to lunch, and they were soon seated at a table in a corner where they could talk without being interrupted.  They spoke of ordinary things for a moment.  Then Lord Tancred’s impatience to get at the matter which interested him became too great to wait longer, so he said laconically: 

“Well?”

“I saw her this morning and had a talk” ­the financier said, as he placed some caviare on his toast.  “You must not overlook the fact, which I have already stated to you, that she is a most difficult problem.  You will have an interesting time taming her.  For a man of nerve, I cannot imagine a more thrilling task.  She is a woman who has restricted all her emotion for men, and could lavish it all upon the man, I imagine.  In any case that is ‘up to you,’ as our friends, the Americans, say ­”

Lord Tancred thrilled as he answered: 

“Yes, it shall be ‘up to me.’  But I want to find out all about her for myself.  I just want to know when I may see her, and what is the programme?”

“The programme is that she will receive you this afternoon, about tea-time, I should say; that you must explain to her you realize you are engaged.  You need not ask her to marry you; she will not care for details like that ­she knows it is already settled.  Be as businesslike as you can ­and come away.  She has made it a condition that she sees you as little as possible until the wedding.  The English idea of engaged couples shocks her, for, remember, it is, on her side, not a love-match.  If you wish to have the slightest success with her afterwards be careful now.  She is going to Paris, immediately, for her trousseau.  She will return about a week before the wedding, when you can present her to your family.”

Tristram smiled grimly and then the two men’s eyes met and they both laughed.

“Jove!  Francis!” Lord Tancred exclaimed, “isn’t it a wonderful affair!  A real dramatic romance, here in the twentieth century.  Would not every one think I was mad, if they knew!”

“It is that sort of madmen who are often the sanest,” Francis Markrute answered.  “The world is full of apparently sane fools.”  Then he passed on to a further subject.  “You will re-open Wrayth, of course,” he said.  “I wish my niece to be a Queen of Society, and to have her whole life arranged with due state.  I wish your family to understand that I appreciate the honor of the connection with them, and consider it a privilege, and a perfectly natural thing ­since we are foreigners of whom you know nothing ­that we should provide the necessary money for what we wish.”

Lord Tancred listened; he thought of his mother’s similar argument at breakfast.

“You see,” the financier went on reflectively, “in life, the wise man always pays willingly for what he really wants, as you are doing, for instance, in your blind taking of my niece.  Your old nobility in England is the only one of any consequence left in the world.  The other countries’ system of the titles descending to all the younger sons, ad infinitum, makes the whole thing a farce after a while.  A Prince in the Caucasus is as common as a Colonel in Kentucky, and in Austria and Germany there are poor Barons in the streets.  There was a time in my life when I could have had a foreign title, but I found it ridiculous, and so refused it.  But in England, in spite of your amusing radicalism the real thing still counts.  It is a valid asset ­a tangible security for one’s money ­from a business point of view.  And Americans or foreigners like myself and my niece, for instance, are securing substantial property and equal return, when we bring large fortunes in our marriage settlements to this country.  What satisfaction comparable to the glory of her English position as Marchioness of Darrowood could Miss Clara D. Woggenheimer have got out of her millions, if she had married one of her own countrymen, or an Italian count?  Yet she gives herself the airs of a benefactress to poor Darrowood and throws her money in his teeth, whereas Darrowood is the benefactor, if there is a case of it either way.  But to me, a sensible business man, the bargain is equal.  You don’t go to an art dealer’s and buy a very valuable Rembrandt for its marketable value, and then, afterwards, jibe at the picture and reproach the art dealer.  Money is no good without position, and here in England you have had such hundreds of years of freedom from invasion, that you have had time, which no other country has had, to perfect your social system.  Let the Radicals and the uninformed of other lands rail as they will, your English aristocracy is the finest body of thinkers and livers in the world.  One hears ever of the black sheep, the few luridly glaring failures, but never of the hundreds of great and noble lives which are England’s strength.”

“By Jove!” said Lord Tancred, “you ought to be in the House of Lords, Francis!  You’d wake them up!”

The financier looked down at his plate; he always lowered his eyes when he felt things.  No one must ever read what was really passing in his soul, and when he felt, it was the more difficult to conceal, he reasoned.

“I am not a snob, my friend,” he said, after a mouthful of salad.  “I have no worship for aristocracy in the abstract; I am a student, a rather careful student of systems and their results, and, incidentally, a breeder of thoroughbred live stock, too, which helps one’s conclusions:  and above all I am an interested watcher of the progress of evolution.”

“You are abominably clever,” said Lord Tancred.

“Think of your uncle, the Duke of Glastonbury,” the financier went on.  “He fulfills his duties in every way, a munificent landlord, and a sound, level-headed politician:  what other country or class could produce such as he?”

“Oh, the Duke’s all right,” his nephew agreed.  “He is a bit hard up like a number of us at times, but he keeps the thing going splendidly, and my cousin Ethelrida helps him.  She is a brick.  But you know her, of course, don’t you think so?”

“The Lady Ethelrida seems to me a very perfect young woman,” Francis Markrute said, examining his claret through the light.  “I wish I knew her better.  We have few occasions of meeting; she does not go out very much into general society, as you know.”

“Oh, I’ll arrange that, if it would interest you.  I thought you were perfectly cynical about and even rather bored with women,” Lord Tancred said.

“I think I told you ­was it only yesterday? ­that I understood it might be possible for a woman to count ­I have not time for the ordinary parrot-chatterers one meets.  There are three classes of the species female:  those for the body, those for the brain, and those for both.  The last are dangerous.  The other two merely occupy certain moods in man.  Fortunately for us the double combination is rare.”

Lord Tancred longed to ask under which head Francis Markrute placed his niece, but, of course, he restrained himself.  He, personally, felt sure she would be of the combination; that was her charm.  Yes, as he thought over things, that was the only really dangerous kind, and he had so seldom met it!  Then his imagination suddenly pictured Laura Highford with her tiny mouth and pointed teeth.  She had a showy little brain, absolutely no heart, and the senses of a cat or a ferret.  What part of him had she appealed to?  Well, thank God, that was over and done with, and he was perfectly free to make his discoveries in regard to Zara, his future wife!

“I tell you what, Francis,” he said presently, after the conversation had drifted from these topics and cigars and liqueurs had come, “I would like my cousin Ethelrida to meet Countess Shulski pretty soon.  I don’t know why, but I believe the two would get on.”

“There is no use suggesting any meetings until my niece returns from Paris,” the financier said.  “She will be in a different mood by then.  She had not, when she came to England, quite put off her mourning; she will then have beautiful clothes, and be more acquiescent in every way.  Now she would be antagonistic.  See her this afternoon and be sensible; make up your mind to postpone things, until her return.  And even then be careful until she is your wife!”

Lord Tancred looked disappointed.  “It is a long time,” he said.

“Let me arrange to give a dinner at my house, at which perhaps the Duke and Lady Ethelrida would honor me by being present, and your mother and sisters and any other member of your family you wish, let us say, on the night of my niece’s return” (he drew a small calendar notebook from his pocket).  “That will be Wednesday, the 18th, and we will fix the wedding for Wednesday the 25th, a week later.  That gets you back from your honeymoon on the 1st of November; you can stay with me that night, and if your uncle is good enough to include me in the invitation to his shoot we can all three go down to Montfitchet on the following day.  Is all this well?  If so I will write it down.”

“Perfectly well,” agreed the prospective bridegroom ­and having no notebook or calendar, he scribbled the reminder for himself on his cuff.  Higgins, his superb valet, knew a good deal of his lordship’s history from his lordship’s cuffs!

“I don’t think I shall wait for tea-time, Francis,” he said, when they got out of the restaurant, into the hall.  “I think I’ll go now, and get it over, if she will be in.  Could I telephone and ask?”

He did so and received the reply from Turner that Countess Shulski was at home, but could not receive his lordship until half-past four o’clock.

“Damn!” said that gentleman as he put the receiver down, and Francis Markrute turned away to hide his smile.

“You had better go and buy an engagement ring, hadn’t you?” he said.  “It won’t do to forget that.”

“Good Lord, I had forgotten!” gasped Tristram.

“Well, I have lots of time to do it now, so I’ll go to the family jewelers, they are called old-fashioned, but the stones are so good.”

So they said good-bye, the young man speeding westwards in a taxi, the lion hunter’s excitement thrilling in his veins.

The financier returned to his stately office and passed through his obsequious rows of clerks to his inner sanctum.  Then he lit another cigar and gave orders that he was not to be disturbed for a quarter of an hour.  He reposed in a comfortable chair and allowed himself to dream.  All his plans were working; there must be no rush.  Great emergencies required rush, but to build to the summit of one’s ambitions, one must use calm and watchful care.