of the studios; the pictures, the oriental rugs, the bits of armour,
the old brocade, the rich cushions. If he had not been born to it,
why had he not remained, like all 'the youth of Bludston, amid the
filth and clatter of the factory? He loved, too, to hear the studio
talk, though at first he comprehended little of it. The men and
women for whom he sat possessed the same quality as his
never-forgotten goddess and Lady Chudley and the young architect--
a quality which he recognized keenly, but for which his limited
vocabulary could find no definition. Afterward he realized that it
was refinement in manner and speech and person. This quality he felt
it essential to acquire. Accordingly he played the young ape to
those who aroused his admiration.

One day when Jane entered the back-parlour he sprang from his seat
and advanced with outstretched hand to meet her: "My dear Lady Jane,
how good of you to come! Do let me clear a chair for you."

"What are you playing at?" asked Jane.

"That's the way to receive a lady when she calls on you.

"Oh!" said Jane.

He practised on her each newly learned social accomplishment. He
minced his broad Lancashire, when he spoke to her, in such a way as
to be grotesquely unintelligible. By listening to conversations he
learned many amazing social facts; among them that the gentry had a
bath every morning of their lives. This stirred his imagination to
such a pitch that he commanded Jane to bring up the matutinal
washtub to his bedroom. By instinct refined he revelled in the