ed at her dubiously.

"They're surely not going to make a show of him!" he thought.

Mrs. Dennant was writing, in a dark-blue dress starred over with white
spots, whose fine lawn collar was threaded with black velvet.

"Have you seen the new hybrid Algy's brought me back from Kidstone? Is
n't it charmin'?" and she bent her face towards this perfect rose. "They
say unique; I'm awfully interested to find out if that's true. I've told
Algy I really must have some."

Shelton thought of the unique hybrid breakfasting downstairs; he wished
that Mrs. Dennant would show in him the interest she had manifested in
the rose. But this was absurd of him, he knew, for the potent law of
hobbies controlled the upper classes, forcing them to take more interest
in birds, and roses, missionaries, or limited and highly-bound editions
of old books (things, in a word, in treating which you knew exactly where
you were) than in the manifestations of mere life that came before their
eyes.

"Oh, Dick, about that young Frenchman. Antonia says he wants a
tutorship; now, can you really recommend him? There's Mrs. Robinson at
the Gateways wants someone to teach her boys languages; and, if he were
quite satisfactory, it's really time Toddles had a few lessons in French;
he goes to Eton next half."

Shelton stared at the rose; he had suddenly realised why it was that
people take more interest in roses than in human beings--one could do it
with a quiet heart.

"He's not a Frenchman, you know," he said to gain a little time.

"He's not a German, I hope," Mrs. Dennant answered, passing her forgers
round a petal, to impress its fashion on her brain; "I don't like
Germans. Is n't he the one you wrote about--come down in the world?
Such a pity with so young a fellow! His father was a merchant, I think
you told us. Antonia says he 's quite refined to look at."

"Oh, yes," said Shelton, feeling on safe ground; "he's refined enough to
look at."

Mrs. Dennant took the rose and put it to her nose.

"Delicious perfume! That was a very touchin' story about his goin'
without food in Paris. Old Mrs. Hopkins has a room to let; I should like
to do her a good turn. I'm afraid there's a hole in the ceilin', though.
Or there's the room here in the left wing on the ground-floor where John
the footman used to sleep. It's quite nice; perhaps he could have that."

"You 're awfully kind," said Shelton, "but--"

"I should like to do something to restor