him say; "you don't surely tell us that
dandelions and roses have the same pale spirit!"

Mr. Stone looked at him wistfully.

"Did I say that?" he said. "I had no wish to be dogmatic."

"Not at all, sir, not at all," murmured Stephen.

Thyme, leaning over to her mother, whispered "Oh, Mother, don't let
grandfather be queer; I can't bear it to-night!"

Cecilia, at her wits' end, said hurriedly:

"Dad, will you tell us what sort of character you think that little girl
who comes to you has?"

Mr. Stone paused in the act of drinking water; his attention had
evidently been riveted; he did not, however, speak. And Cecilia, seeing
that the butler, out of the perversity which she found so conspicuous in
her servants, was about to hand him beef, made a desperate movement with
her lips. "No, Charles, not there, not there!"

The butler, tightening his lips, passed on. Mr. Stone spoke:

"I had not considered that. She is rather of a Celtic than an
Anglo-Saxon type; the cheekbones are prominent; the jaw is not massive;
the head is broad--if I can remember I will measure it; the eyes are of a
peculiar blue, resembling chicory flowers; the mouth---," Mr. Stone
paused.

Cecilia thought: 'What a lucky find! Now perhaps he will go on all
right!'

"I do not know," Mr. Stone resumed, speaking in a far-off voice, "whether
she would be virtuous."

Cecilia heard Stephen drinking sherry; Thyme, too, was drinking
something; she herself drank nothing, but, pink and quiet, for she was a
well-bred woman, said:

"You have no new potatoes, dear. Charles, give Mr. Stone some new
potatoes."

By the almost vindictive expression on Stephen's face she saw, however,
that her failure had decided him to resume command of the situation.
"Talking of brotherhood, sir," he said dryly, "would you go so far as to
say that a new potato is the brother of a bean?"

Mr. Stone, on whose plate these two vegetables reposed, looked almost
painfully confused.

"I do not perceive," he stammered, "any difference between them."

"It's true," said Stephen; "the same pale spirit can be extracted from
them both."

Mr. Stone looked up at him.

"You laugh at me," he said. "I cannot help it; but you must not laugh at
life--that is blasphemy."

Before the piercing wistfulness of that sudden gaze Stephen was abashed.
Cecilia saw him bite his lower lip.

"We're talking too much," he said; "we really must let your father eat!"
And the rest of the