the population you've got here. It's south of Europe chiefly,
isn't it? eastern Europe?--the part Weedie hasn't turned into ward
politicians yet. Who is Andrea? This is the first time I have heard his
honourable name. Weedon's interpreter."

"He has the fruit store on Mill Street."

"Ah! Amabel, do you know what this interview has done for me? It's given
me a perfectly overwhelming desire to speak the tongues."

"Foreign languages, Jeff?"

"Any language that will help me beat Weedie at his game, or give me a
look at the cards old Madame Beattie holds. I feel a fool. Why can't I
know what they're talking about when they can kick up row enough under
my very nose to make you come and rag me like this?"

"Jeff," said Miss Amabel, "unless you are prepared to go into social
work seriously and see things as Mr. Moore sees them--"

Jeff gave a little crow of derision and she coloured. "It wouldn't hurt
you, Jeff, to see some things as he does. The necessity of getting into
touch with our foreign population--"

"I'll do that all right," said Jeffrey. "That's precisely what I mean.
I'm going to learn foreign tongues and talk to 'em."

"They say Madame Beattie speaks a dozen or so and I don't know how many
dialects."

"Oh, I can't compete with Madame Beattie. She's got the devil on her
side."

Miss Amabel rose to her feet and stood regarding him sorrowfully. He
looked up at her with a glance full of affection, yet too merry for her
heavy mood. Then he got on his feet and took her parasol.

"You haven't noticed the corn," said he. "Don't you know you must praise
the work of a man's hands?"

"I don't know whether it's a good thing for you or not," said she. "Yes,
it must have been, so far. You're tanned."

"I feel fit enough."

"You don't look over twenty."

"Oh, I'm over twenty, thank you," said Jeff. A shadow settled on his
face; it even touched his eyes, mysteriously, and dulled them. "I'm not
tanned all through."

"But you're only doing this for a time?"

"I don't know, Amabel. I give you my word I don't know the next step
after to-day--or this hill of corn--or that."

"If you wanted capital, Jeff--"

He took up a fold of her little shoulder ruffle and put it to his lips,
and Lydia saw and wondered.

"No, dear," said he. "I sha'n't need your money. Only don't you let
Weedie have it, to muddle away in politics."

She was turning at the edge of the corn and looking at him perplexedly.
Her mission hadn'