d she looked over James's shoulder into the
vistas of the great drawing-room. The sombre, fading magnificence of the
Wilbrahams--a magnificence of dark woods, tasselled curtains, reps, and
gilt--was her theatre, and the theatre suited her mood.

Still, Jimmy Ollerenshaw, somewhat embittered by the catastrophe of the
afternoon, conceived that he was not going to be brow-beaten.

"What's the matter with Emanuel Prockter," said he, "is as he's probably
gotten a cold by this."

"Yes, and you're glad!" Helen retorted. "You think he looked a fool
after he'd been in the water. And you were glad."

"I dunna think," said James, "I'm sure."

"But why should you be glad? That's what I want to know."

James could not sagaciously reply to this query. He merely scratched his
head, tilting one of his Turkish caps to that end.

"The fact is," she cried, with a grammatical carelessness which was
shocking in a woman who had professed to teach everything, "every one
has got their knives into Emanuel Prockter. And it's simply because he's
good-looking and well-dressed and sings beautifully."

"Good-looking!" murmured James.

"Well, isn't he?"

"He's pretty," said James.

"No one ever said he had a lot of brains--"

"I never did," James put in.

"But what does that matter? He _is_ polite. He does know how to behave
himself in polite society. If Andrew Dean pushed him into the water,
that wasn't his fault. Andrew is stronger than he is, but that's no
credit to Andrew Dean. It's to his discredit. Andrew Dean is nothing but
a bully--we all know that. He might have pushed you into the water, or
me."

"He might," James admitted, "if I'd been silly enough to get between the
water and him."

"And I should like to know who looked a fool when Andrew Dean fell off
those steps. And just listen to the language the man used. I will say
this for Emanuel Prockter--I never heard him swear."

"No," said James. "He wears gloves. He even wears 'em when he takes his
bath of a November afternoon."

"I don't care who knows it," Helen observed, hotly, "I like Emanuel
Prockter."

"There's nobody as dunna' know it," said James. "It's the talk of Bosley
as you've set your cap at him."

"I don't wear caps," said Helen. "I'm not a servant."

"Hat, then," James corrected himself. "Ye'll not deny as you wear hats,
I reckon. I've seen ye in forty."

"I know who started that tale," Helen exploded. "Andrew Dean started
that tale."

"No," said