onentity. He has been here several times, for
mother of course. Even now I have never heard his music. But there is a
difference. I believe in such a place as London unless one has
resolution to assert oneself people think one is a sort of shadow. I
have so often thought of what you said about my perhaps having to learn
through Claude Heath and to teach him, too. Sometimes when I look at him
I feel it must be so. But what have I to teach? D'you know
since--since--well, it makes me feel humble often. And yet I know that
the greatest man needs help. Men are a sort of children. I've often been
surprised by the childishness of really big men. Please tell me all he
said to you."

Very calmly Susan told. She had just finished, and Charmian was about to
speak again, when Mrs. Mansfield opened the door. Charmian sprang up so
abruptly that Caroline was startled into a husky bark.

"Oh, Madre! Susan Fleet is here!"

Mrs. Mansfield knew at once that she had broken in upon a confidential
interview, not by Miss Fleet's demeanor, but by Charmian's. But she did
not show her knowledge. She sat down and joined pleasantly in the talk.
She had often seen Miss Fleet in London, but she did not know her well.
At once she realized that Charmian had found an excellent friend. And
she was not jealous because of the confidence given but not given to
her. Youth, she knew, is wilful and must have its way. The nearest, for
some inscrutable reason, are generally told the least.

When Miss Fleet went away, Mrs. Mansfield said:

"That is one of the most thoroughbred human beings I have ever seen. No
wonder the greatest snobs like her. There is nothing a snob hates so
much as snobbery in another. _Viva_ to your new friend, Charmian!"

She wondered a little whether Miss Fleet's perception of character was
as keen as her breeding was definite, when she heard that Claude Heath
had met her.

Heath told Mrs. Mansfield this. Miss Fleet had made a strong impression
upon him. At the moment when he had met her he had felt specially
downcast. The musical critic, with whom he had gone to the concert, had
been a fellow student with him at the Royal College. Being young the
critic was very critical, very sure of himself, very decisive in his
worship of the new idols and in his scathing contempt for the old. He
spoke of Mendelssohn as if the composer of _Elijah_ had earned undying
shame, of Gounod as if he ought to have been hanged for creating his
_Faust_.