't know anything,
but she picks up ideas and puts them together very cleverly. I can't
help thinking that she'd never have given the pagoda a thought if my
white porcelain hadn't educated her. I really can't believe that it's
good, Owen."

Owen waived the point.

"Who is Mr. Waterlow?" he asked.

"He has been dead for fifteen or sixteen years. He died only a year
after their marriage. A very delightful man, so people say who knew him.
And Cicely lost her little girl, to whom she was passionately devoted,
five years ago; she has never really recovered from that. She used to be
so pretty, poor Cicely! She's lost it all now. She cried her very eyes
out. She has a little money and lives with her mother-in-law, old Mrs.
Waterlow, who is very fond of her. They don't entertain except in the
quietest way, or go out much, and I do what I can to give Cicely a good
time. I often have her here to tea when I have interesting people
staying."

"Oh, that's good. Do count me as interesting enough and ask her while
I'm here."

"Interesting enough, my dear Owen! I don't suppose that Cicely often has
a chance of meeting such an interesting man as you. Of course I'll ask
her," said Gwendolen. Then, remembering his gift: "It _was_ nice of you
to get me a red lacquer box, Owen. I adore red lacquer, and I'm quite
sure, whatever you and Cicely Waterlow may say, that it's worth a
hundred of your white pagodas."

Mrs. Waterlow came to tea next afternoon, the last of Owen's stay. The
drawing-room was crowded, and Owen, when she was announced, was enjoying
a talk with a dismal-looking old philosopher who had plaintive, white
hairs on his nose and trousers that bagged irremediably at the knees.

"Yes, indeed, I know her well," said Professor Selden, as Owen
questioned him. "I play chess with her once a week. Her little girl was
a great pet of mine. You never saw the little girl?"

"Never, and I've not yet met Mrs. Waterlow. She is most
charming-looking."

"The little girl was so much like her," said Professor Selden, sadly.
"Yes, she is a charming woman. Don't let me keep you from meeting her. I
am going to sit down here while our young friend Dawkins plays. You
know Dawkins? Between ourselves, Mrs. Conyers thinks too highly of
him."

Mrs. Waterlow's eyes turned upon him as he limped up to her and
Gwendolen, and smiling, she said, "Why, I saw you yesterday in Mr.
Glazebrook's shop."

"Yes," said Owen, "and there is the red lacquer b