How agreeable it felt to be once more in the world, Miss Roberta
thought, and her faded pale cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

John Derringham had been sulky as a bear at the idea of coming, but
something in the quaintly pathetic refinement of the poor and splendid
old house pleased him, and the aroma of untouched early-Victorian
prudish grace which the ancient ladies threw around them appealed to his
imagination, as any complete bit of art or nature always did. He found
himself seated between Miss La Sarthe and Halcyone and quite enjoying
himself. Everything was of the time from the épergne to the way the
bread was cut.

Halcyone conversed with Mr. Miller, who always felt he must make nursery
jokes with her and ask her the names of her dolls.

"He can't help it," she told Cheiron one day. "If he had any more
intelligence God would have put him to work in some busier place."

John Derringham did not address her; he devoted himself to Miss La
Sarthe.

He had absolutely no diffidence. He had been spoilt from his cradle, and
by the time he had left Eton--Captain of the Oppidans--had ruled all
those near him with a rod of iron, imposing his interesting enthusiastic
personality upon all companies with unqualified success. Miss La Sarthe
fell at once. He said exactly the right things to her and flattered her
by his unfeigned interest in all she spoke of. He was studying her as he
studied any rare memento of historical value.

"My great-niece reads every morning with Mr. Carlyon," she said