hobbies. But come over and see this new engraving, Mr. Jones; it's an
old-fashioned picture of your beloved Rhine."

Aleck, thus liberated from Mr. Lloyd-Jones and his mines, made his way
across the room to Madame Reynier. The cunning of old Adam, was in his
eye, but otherwise he was the picture of deferential innocence.

Madame Reynier liked Aleck, with his inoffensive Americanisms and
unfailing kindliness; and with her friends she was frankness itself.
With two men on Miss Reynier's hands for entertainment, it seemed to
Aleck unlikely that either one could make any alarming progress.
Besides, he was glad of a tête-à-tête with the chaperone.

Madame Reynier was a tall, straight woman, elderly, dressed entirely in
black, with gaunt, aristocratic features and great directness of speech.
She had the fine kind of hauteur which forbids persons of this type ever
to speak of money, of disease, of scandal, or of too intimate
personalities; in Madame Reynier's case it also restrained her from every
sort of exaggerated speech. She spoke English with some difficulty and
preferred French.

Van Camp seated himself on a spindle-legged, gilt chair by Madame
Reynier's side, and begged to know how they were enduring the New York
climate, which had formerly proved intolerable to Madame Reynier. As he
seated himself she stretched out saving hands.

"I can endure the climate, thank you; but I can't endure to see your life
endangered on that silly chair, my dear Mr. Van Camp. There--thank you."
And when he was seated in a solid mahogany, he was rewarded with Madame
Reynier's confidential chat. They had returned to their New York