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The Graefin's two elder sons had made deplorable marriages. It was, observed Clovis, a family habit. The youngest boy, Wratislav, who was the black sheep of a rather greyish family, had as yet made no marriage at all. "There is certainly this much to be said for viciousness," said the Graefin, "it keeps boys out of mischief."

"But think of his reputation! If half the things they say about him are true " "Probably three-quarters of them are. But what of it? You don't want an archangel for a son-in-law." "I don't want Wratislav. My poor Elsa would be miserable with him."

"My dear Sophie," said the Graefin sweetly, "that isn't in the least bit clever; but you do try so hard that I suppose I oughtn't to discourage you. Tell me something: has it ever occurred to you that Elsa would do very well for Wratislav? It's time he married somebody, and why not Elsa?" "Elsa marry that dreadful boy!" gasped the Baroness. "Beggars can't be choosers," observed the Graefin.

"Elsa isn't a beggar!" "Not financially, or I shouldn't have suggested the match. But she's getting on, you know, and has no pretensions to brains or looks or anything of that sort." "You seem to forget that she's my daughter." "That shows my generosity. But, seriously, I don't see what there is against Wratislav. He has no debts at least, nothing worth speaking about."

"Such a thing as that no one in our family has ever done," gasped the Baroness. "Perhaps he didn't appeal to them in the same way," suggested the Graefin judicially. The Baroness began to feel that she was not getting the astonishment and sympathy to which her catastrophe entitled her. "At any rate," she snapped, "now she can't marry Wratislav."

"A little misery wouldn't matter very much with her; it would go so well with the way she does her hair, and if she couldn't get on with Wratislav she could always go and do good among the poor." The Baroness picked up a framed photograph from the table. "He certainly is very handsome," she said doubtfully; adding even more doubtfully, "I dare say dear Elsa might reform him."

"Were they looking very happy?" asked the Baroness. "Wratislav was wearing some new English clothes, so, of course, he was quite happy. I overheard him telling Toni a rather amusing story about a nun and a mousetrap, which won't bear repetition.

"She couldn't in any case," said the Graefin; "he left suddenly for abroad last night." "For abroad! Where?" "For Mexico, I believe." "Mexico! But what for? Why Mexico?" "The English have a proverb, 'Conscience makes cowboys of us all." "I didn't know Wratislav had a conscience." "My dear Sophie, he hasn't. It's other people's consciences that send one abroad in a hurry. Let's go and eat."