It was an uncomplimentary thought, and he tried to put it from him as singularly unsuitable, and indeed almost outrageous at this moment, but it would not go. It defied him and stuck firmly in his mind. In his opinion Adela Sellingworth was the most truly distinguished woman in London. But that she should attract a young man, almost indeed a boy, in _that_ way! It did really seem utterly impossible.

In answer to his inquiry, Lady Sellingworth acknowledged that she had not been feeling very well during the last two days.

"Perhaps you have been doing too much?" he suggested.

The mocking look came into her eyes.

"But what do I ever do now?" she said. "I lie quietly on my shelf. That surely can't be very exhausting."

"No one would ever connect you with being laid on the shelf," said Braybrooke; "your personality forbids that. Besides, I hear that you have been having quite a lively time."

He paused--it was his conception of the pause dramatic--then added:

"At the foot of a volcano!"

"Ah! you have heard about Vesuvius!"

"Yes."

"What a marvellous gatherer of news you are! Beryl Van Tuyn?"

"No. I happened to meet young Craven at the St. James's Club, and he told me of your excursion into Bohemia."

"Bohemia!" she said. "I haven't set foot in that entertaining country since I gave up my apartment in Paris. Soho is beyond its borders. But I confess to Soho. Beryl persuaded me, and I really quite enjoyed it. The coffee was delicious, and the hairdressers put their souls into their guitars. But I doubt if I shall go there again."

"It tired you? The atmosphere in those places is so mephitic."

"Oh, I didn't mind that. Besides, we blew it away by walking home, at least part of the way home."

"Down Shaftesbury Avenue? That was surely rather dangerous."

"Dangerous! Why?"

"The sudden change from stuffiness to cold and damp. Craven spoke of Toscanas. And those cheap restaurants are so very small and badly ventilated."

"Oh, we enjoyed our walk."

"That's good. Craven was quite enthusiastic about the evening."

Again the pause dramatic!

"He's a nice boy. I hope you liked him. I feel a little responsible--"

"Do you? But why?"

"Because I ventured to introduce him to you."

"Oh, don't worry. I a.s.sure you I like him very much."

Her tone was very casual, but quite cordial.

"Well, he was enthusiastic about the evening, said it was like a bit of Italy. You know he was once at the emba.s.sy in Rome."

"Yes. He told me so."

"I hear very good accounts of him from the Foreign Office. Eric Learington speaks very well of him. He ought to rise high in the career."

"I hope he will. I like to see clever young men get on. And he certainly has something in him."

"Yes, I think so too. By the way, he seems tremendously taken with Miss Van Tuyn."

As the world's governess said this he let his small hazel eyes fix themselves rather intently on Lady Sellingworth's face. He saw no change of expression there. She still looked tired, but casual, neither specially interested nor in the least bored. Her brilliant eyes still held their slightly mocking expression.

"Beryl must be almost irresistible to young men," she said. "She combines beauty with brains, and she has the audacity which nearly always appeals to youth. Besides, unconventionality is really the salt of our over-civilized life, and she has it in abundance. She doesn't merely pretend to it. It is part of her."

"She may grow out of it in time."

"I hope she won't," said Lady Sellingworth, rather decisively. "If she did she would lose a great deal of her charm."

"Well, but when she marries?"

"Is she thinking of marrying?"

"Girls of her age usually are, I fancy."

"If she marries the right man he won't mind her unconventionality. He may even enjoy it."

It occurred to Braybrooke that Adela Sellingworth was supposed to have done a great many unconventional things at one time. Nevertheless he could not help saying:

"I think most husbands prefer their wives to keep within bounds."

"Beryl may never marry," said Lady Sellingworth, rather thoughtfully.

"She is an odd girl. I could imagine--"

She paused, but not dramatically.

"Yes?" he said, with gentle insinuation.

"I could imagine her choosing to live a life of her own."

"What, like Caroline Briggs?" he said.

Lady Sellingworth moved, and her face changed, suddenly looked more expressive.

"Ah, Caroline!" she said. "I am very fond of her. She is one in a thousand. But she and Beryl are quite different in character. Caroline lives for self-respect, I think. And Beryl lives for life. Caroline refuses, but Beryl accepts with both hands."

"Then she will probably accept a husband some day."

Suddenly Lady Sellingworth changed her manner. She leaned forward towards the world's governess, smiled at him, and said, half satirically, half confidentially: