" said the man, "it makes it harder than ever."

Michael took the opportunity to look at this odd man and tried to think
where he had seen him before. He was sure he had seen him somewhere. But
every time just as he had almost remembered, a mist came over the
picture he was trying to form, so that he could not remember.

"Well, Michael," said the gentleman, "you don't know who I am."

"Ah, don't, Charles," said Mrs. Fane.

"Well, he's not so wise as all that," laughed the gentleman.

Michael thought it was a funny laugh, more sad than cheerful.

"This is Lord Saxby," said Mrs. Fane.

"I say, my name is Saxby," Michael exclaimed.

"Nonsense," said Lord Saxby, "I don't believe it."

"It is really. Charles Michael Saxby Fane."

"Well, that's a very strange thing," said Lord Saxby.

"Yes, I think it's awfully funny," Michael agreed. "Because I never
heard of anyone called Saxby. My name's Charles too. Only, of course,
that's quite a common name. But nobody at our school knows I'm called
Saxby except a boy called Buckley who's an awful beast. We don't tell
our Christian names, you know. If a chap lets out his Christian name he
gets most frightfully ragged by the other chaps. Chaps think you're an
awfully silly ass if you let out your Christian name."

Michael was finding it very easy to talk.

"I must hear some more about this wonderful school," Lord Saxby
declared.

Then followed a delightful conversation in which due justice was done to
the Macalister twins and to Norton, and to the life they shared with
Michael.

"By gad, Valerie, he ought to go to Eton, you know," declared Lord
Saxby, turning to Michael's mother.

"No, no. I'm sure you were right, when you said St. James'," persisted
Mrs. Fane.

"Perhaps I was," Lord Saxby sighed. "Well, Valerie--not again. It's too
damnably tantalizing."

"I thought just once while he was still small," said Mrs. Fane softly.
"Photographs are so unsatisfactory. And you haven't yet heard Stella
play."

"Valerie, I couldn't. Look at this great barrack of a house. If you only
knew how I long sometimes for--what a muddle it all is!"

Then a footman came in with tea, and Michael wondered what dinner was
like in this house, if mere tea were so grand and silvery.

"I think I must drive you back in the phaeton," said Lord Saxby.

"No, no, Charles. No more rules must be broken."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. But don't--not again, please. I can't bear
to think of the