ince I wrote you, I've heard more things about his past from Mrs.
Norton, who is as proud of her brother, after a fashion, as a cat of its
mouse, and always wanting to show him off, in just the same way. (We all
have our "mouse," haven't we? I'm yours. Just now, the new hats are
mine.) She has told me a splendid story about a thing he did in Bengal:
saved twelve people's lives in a house that was on fire in the middle of
the night--the kind of house which blazes like a haystack. And,
according to her, he thinks no more of rescuing drowning persons who
jump off ships in seas swarming with sharks than we think of fishing a
fly out of our bath. Now, _is_ it possible for a man like that to be
treacherous to women, and to accept bribes for being guardian to their
children? I do wish I knew what to make of it all--and of him.

He has taken the funny little Bengalese valet, who has been, and is to
be, his chauffeur, to try the new car this morning. He meant to have
gone before this to look at his partly burnt castle in Warwickshire, but
he says London has captivated him, and he can't tear himself away; that
he will go in a day or two, when he has trotted Mrs. Norton and me about
to see a few more sights. Of course, we could quite well see the sights
by ourselves. Mrs. Norton has seen them all, anyhow, and only revisits
them for my sake; while as for me, you and I "did" London thrillingly
together in the last two months of our glory. But Sir Lionel has an
interesting way of telling things, and he is as enthusiastic as a boy
over his England. Not that he gushes; but one knows, somehow, what he is
feeling. I can't imagine his ever being tired, but he is very
considerate of us--seems to think women are frail as glass. I suppose
women _are_ a sex by themselves, but we aren't as different as all that.

Once in a while he threw a sideways glare at Dick Burden, when D. B. was
talking with a confidential air to me. I know from Ellaline and Mrs.
Norton that Sir Lionel dislikes women; but all the same I believe he
thinks we ought to be kept indoors unless veiled, and never allowed to
talk to men, except our relatives.

Mrs. Norton is _so_ funny, without knowing it. She asked her brother as
gravely as possible at breakfast this morning: "Had you a harem in
Bengal, dear?"

"Good heavens, no!" he answered, turning red. "What put such a ghastly
idea into your head?"

"Oh, I only thought perhaps it was the thing, and you were obliged to,