eyes, filled with some tragic
sorrow of her own. Her hair was white, every thread of it, though she
could not have been more than forty-five.

These likenesses were not so apparent at first sight in Mrs. Levine, the
golden, full-blown flower of the Brodricks. They had mixed so thoroughly
and subtly that they merged in her smoothness and her roundness. And
still the facial substance showed in the firm opacity of her skin, the
racial soul asserted itself in her poised complacence and decision.

"You don't know," she was saying, "how we're all sitting at your feet."

"We are indeed," said Mr. John Brodrick.

"Very much so," said the Doctor.

"Even little Cissy," said Hugh.

For little Cissy was bringing all her stalkless flowers to Jane; smiling
at her as if she alone possessed the secret of this play. Brodrick
watched, well-pleased, the silent traffic of their tendernesses.

The others were talking about Hambleby now. They had all read him. They
had all enjoyed him. They all wanted more of him.

"If we could only have had Hambleby, Miss Holland," said Levine. "It
wasn't my fault that we didn't get him."

Jane remembered that this was the brother-in-law whom Brodrick had
wanted to keep out. He had the air of being persistently, permanently
in.

"Of course it wasn't your fault," said she.

Levine then thought it necessary to say things about Jane's celebrity
till Brodrick cut him short.

"Miss Holland," he said, "doesn't like her celebrity. You needn't talk
about it."

John and Henry looked graver than ever, and Sophy made sweet eyes at
Jane. Sophy's eyes--when they looked at you--were very sweet. It was
through her eyes only that she apologized for her husband, whose own
eyes were manifestly incapable of apologizing for anything. The
Brodricks seemed to tolerate their brother-in-law; and he seemed, more
sublimely, to tolerate their tolerance.

Great efforts were now made to divert Levine from the magazine. Mr. John
Brodrick headed him off with motors and their makers; the Doctor kept
his half-resentful spirit moving briskly round the Wimbledon golf-links;
and Hugh, with considerable dexterity, landed him securely on the fiscal
question, where he might be relied upon to stay.

But it was the Baby who saw what was to be done if his parent was to be
delivered from his own offensiveness.

"Oh, look!" cried Winny. "Look at Baby. Making such a ducky angel of
himself."

The Baby, having sat down abruptly on