child. At the same time, of course, we don't want to spend our time in—a—walking round the horse. We want to keep to the main lines." It was settled between them after a little that the main lines were that Jackson Lemon knew to a certainty the state of his affections, and was in a position to pretend to the hand of a young lady who Lord Canterville might say—of course, you know, without swaggering about it—had a right to expect to do well, as the women call it.
"I should think she had," Jackson Lemon said; "she 's a beautiful type."
Lord Canterville stared a moment. "She is a clever, well-grown girl, and she takes her fences like a grasshopper. Does she know all this, by the way?" he added.
"Oh yes, I told her last night."
Again Lord Canterville had the air, unusual with him, of returning his companion's regard. "I am not sure that you ought to have done that, you know."
"I could n't have spoken to you first—I could n't," said Jackson Lemon. "I meant to; but it stuck in my crop."
"They don't in your country, I guess," his lordship returned, smiling.
"Well, not as a general thing; however, I find it very pleasant to discuss with you now." And in truth it was very pleasant. Nothing could be easier, friendlier, more informal, than Lord Canterville's manner, which implied all sorts of equality, especially
