the right scent--of distant Eau de Cologne--and his initials in a
corner. Slightly reassured, he raised his eyes to the young man's
face. It had rather fawn-like ears, a laughing mouth, with half a
toothbrush growing out of it on each side, and small lively eyes,
above a normally dressed appearance.

"Thank you," he said; and moved by a sort of irritation, added:
"Glad to hear you like beauty; that's rare, nowadays."

"I dote on it," said the young man; "but you and I are the last of
the old guard, sir."

Soames smiled.

"If you really care for pictures," he said, "here's my card. I can
show you some quite good ones any Sunday, if you're down the river
and care to look in."

"Awfully nice of you, sir. I'll drop in like a bird. My name's
Mont-Michael." And he took off his hat.

Soames, already regretting his impulse, raised his own slightly in
response, with a downward look at the young man's companion, who
had a purple tie, dreadful little slug-like whiskers, and a
scornful look--as if he were a poet!

It was the first indiscretion he had committed for so long that he
went and sat down in an alcove. What had possessed him to give his
card to a rackety young fellow, who went about with a thing like
that? And Fleur, always at the back of his thoughts, started out