It was not often that Ann found occasion to rejoice at thepresence in her uncle's house of the six geniuses whom Mrs. Petthad installed therein. As a rule, she disliked them individuallyand collectively. But to-day their company was extraordinarilywelcome to her. They might have their faults, but at least theirpresence tended to keep the conversation general and prevent itbecoming a duologue between Lord Wisbeach and Jimmy on thesubject of old times. She was still feeling weak from thereaction consequent upon the slackening of the tension of heremotions on seeing Lord Wisbeach greet Jimmy as an oldacquaintance. She had never hoped that that barrier would besurmounted. She had pictured Lord Wisbeach drawing back with apuzzled frown on his face and an astonished "But this is notJimmy Crocker." The strain had left her relieved, but in no moodfor conversation, and she replied absently to the remarks ofHoward Bemis, the poet, who sat on her left. She looked round thetable. Willie Partridge was talking to Mrs. Pett about thedifference between picric acid and trinitrotoluene, than which apleasanter topic for the luncheon table could hardly be selected,and the voice of Clarence Renshaw rose above all other competingnoises, as he spoke of the functions of the trochaic spondee.

　　There was nothing outwardly to distinguish this meal from anyother which she had shared of late in that house.

　　The only thing that prevented her relief being unmixed was thefact that she could see Lord Wisbeach casting furtive glances atJimmy, who was eating with the quiet concentration of one who,after days of boarding-house fare, finds himself in the presenceof the masterpieces of a chef. In the past few days Jimmy hadconsumed too much hash to worry now about anything like a furtiveglance. He had perceived Lord Wisbeach's roving eye, and had nodoubt that at the conclusion of the meal he would find occasionfor a little chat. Meanwhile, however, his duty was towards histissues and their restoration. He helped himself liberally from adish which his father offered him.

　　He became aware that Mrs. Pett was addressing him.

　　"I beg your pardon?""Quite like old times," said Mrs. Pett genially. Her suspicionshad vanished completely since Lord Wisbeach's recognition of thevisitor, and remorse that she should have suspected him made herunwontedly amiable. "Being with Skinner again," she explained.

　　"It must remind you of London."Jimmy caught his father's expressionless eye.

　　"Skinner's," he said handsomely, "is a character one cannot helpbut respect. His nature expands before one like some beautifulflower."The dish rocked in Mr. Crocker's hand, but his face remainedimpassive.

　　"There is no vice in Skinner," proceeded Jimmy. "His heart is theheart of a little child."Mrs. Pett looked at this paragon of the virtues in rather astartled way. She had an uncomfortable feeling that she was beinglaughed at. She began to dislike Jimmy again.