"Then come in and see them now. We shall find only Joan at home, and
she will not mind your fine feathers or the dust and circumstance of
war upon your boots. Lady Ferriby will be sneaking about in the
direction of Edgware Road--fish is nearly two pence a pound cheaper
there, I understand. My respected uncle is sure to be sunning his
waistcoat in Piccadilly. Yes, there he is. Isn't he splendid? How do,
uncle?" and Cornish waved a grey Suede glove with a gay nod.

"How are the Ferribys?" inquired Major White, who belonged to the curt
school.

"Oh, they seem to be well. Uncle is full of that charity which at all
events has its headquarters in the home counties. Aunt--well, aunt is
saving money."

"And Miss Ferriby?" inquired White, looking straight in front of him.

Cornish glanced quickly at his companion. "Oh, Joan?" he answered. "She
is all right. Full of energy, you know--all the fads in their courses."

"You get 'em too."

"Oh yes; I get them too. Buttonholes come and buttonholes go. Have you
noticed it? They get large. Neapolitan violets all over your left
shoulder one day, and no flowers at all the week after." Cornish spoke
with a gravity befitting the subject. He was, it seemed a student of
human nature in his way. "Of course," he added, laying an impressive
forefinger on White's gold-laced cuff, "it would never do if the world
remained stationary."