him an answer, but he could catch nothing of it.

"I'm here with my niece and nephew," he shouted down. "I don't hear what
you say. May I come down and pay my respects--later on? What is your
number, and when may I come?"

These questions, as he flashed them in review through his mind, seemed
to be all right from the most exacting social point of view. Doubtless
it was equally all right that, before replying, she should consult her
companion, as she did at some length. Then she replied--and he had no
difficulty now in hearing her above the birds--that it would be
very nice of him to come, say, in an hour's time. She told him the
number--and then almost abruptly went in.

Thorpe, during this hour that ensued, smoked with volcanic energy. He
tried to interest himself in one after another of half a dozen Tauchnitz
novels his niece carried about, with a preposterous absence of success.
He strove to arrange in some kind of sequence the things that he should
say, when this momentous interview should begin, but he could think of
nothing which did not sound silly. It would be all right, he argued to
himself in the face of this present mental barrenness; he always talked
well enough on the spur of the moment, when the time came--and still was
not reassured.

He wondered if both ladies would be there to receive him, and
decided that they would probably regard that as indispensable to the
proprieties. In that case, their conversation would necessarily be of
the most casual and general character. He would tell them a good deal
about his niece, he foresaw. A man travelling about with a niece--and
such a delightfully lady-like and engaging little niece--would take on
some added interest and dignity, he perceived, in the eyes of ladies
travelling alone. He essayed to estimate just how much they would
probably like Julia. Of course he would say nothing about her mother and
the book-shop; a vague allusion to a widowed sister would be ample on
that head. But there could be confident references to Cheltenham; he
knew from what Julia had said that it suggested the most satisfactory
social guarantees, if taken strictly by itself. And then so much would
depend upon Julia herself! If she succeeded in striking up a friendship
with them--ah, then everything would be all right. Perhaps they would
take a fancy to Alfred too! He was a boy, of course, but conceivably the
fact that he wanted to paint, and knew about pictures, would appeal to
th