with this, had intimated respectfully that it was a case in which both practice and principle rebelled, and then, perceiving how little Mr. Locket was affected by his audacity, had felt weak and slightly silly, left with his heroism on his hands. He had armed himself for a struggle, but the Promiscuous didn't even protest, and there would have been nothing for him but to go away with the prospect of never coming again had he not chanced to say abruptly, irrelevantly, as he got up from his chair:
"Do you happen to be at all interested in Sir Dominick Ferrand?"
Mr. Locket, who had also got up, looked over his glasses. "The late Sir Dominick?"
"The only one; you know the family's extinct."
Mr. Locket shot his young friend another sharp glance, a silent retort to the glibness of this infor mation. "Very extinct indeed. I'm afraid the subject today would scarcely be regarded as attractive."
"Are you very sure?" Baron asked.
Mr. Locket leaned forward a little, with his finger tips on his table, in the attitude of giving permission to retire. "I might consider the question in a special connection." He was silent a minute, in a way that relegated poor Peter to the general; but meeting the young man's eyes again he asked: "Are you—a—thinking of proposing an article upon him?"
"Not exactly proposing it—because I don't yet quite see my way; but the idea rather appeals to me."
