ented to
Brigit's eye as she opened the door an infinite and bewildering number
of Tommies, bending studiously over a large sheet of writing-paper, that
he held on a book on his knees.

"Hello, Tommy, what are you up to?"

The boy looked up, his face full of ecstasy. "I say, Bick, he _will_!
He will help me learn to be a violinist! He's going to find a good
teacher for me, and then, when I have got over the first grind, you
know, he's going--oh, Bicky, darling--he's going to teach me himself, at
the same time. Isn't he an angel!"

She sat down. "Yes, Tommy. But what on earth are you writing?"

"Well, you see, he--he says I must be educated. I had to promise him to
go in for Latin and all that rot. It's--a bore, but he says a musician
must be educated----"

She started. And he himself, was he educated? Did he know the ordinary
things known, colloquially speaking, by everybody? She did not know. It
had never occurred to her before.

"Yes, dear, but--what is that paper?"

Tommy blushed.

"Well, he's so keen on it, you know, I thought I'd advertise for a--a
tutor."

"Advertise for a tutor!"

"Yes. There is no good in wasting time, is there? And _she_ would potter
about asking people their advice, etc., so I--I have just drawn up this.
You won't tell?"

She shook her head with much gravity and then read what he had written:

"Wanted, by the Earl of Kingsmead, a tutor. Oxford man preferred.
Must be fond of sport, particularly ratting and cricket."

"Do you think it's all right?" he asked, as he read it.

"Y--yes--only there isn't any 'k' in 'particularly.' But I think we'd
better--ask someone, little brother. I don't imagine that children
usually advertise for their own tutors."

"But there isn't any 'usually' about me, Bick. And certainly _mother_
isn't 'usual,' nor you. And if she got a man I'd be sure to loathe him.
Think of that chap Baker that she thought such a lot of. Why, he read
poetry!"

"Poetry isn't any worse than music, is it?"

Tommy's mouth, as he smiled, was its most fawn-like. "_Music!_ Rather
different, my dear Brigit. Well--can you lend me some money for my ad?"

She was silent for a moment, and then answered in a kind of desperate
impatience, "Oh, dear! Suppose you go and ask _him_ what to do."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Duchess, that evening, watched Brigit with dismayed surprise. What
had happened to the girl? Where were her happy expression and youthful
spirits?