"I, on the contrary," replied Roden, with his tired air, "have never
till now been out of England or English-speaking colonies."

His voice had a hollow sound. Although he was tall and
broad-shouldered, his presence had no suggestion of strength. Mrs.
Vansittart looked at him quickly as she took the newspaper from his
hand. She had clever, speculative eyes, and was obviously wondering why
he had gone to the colonies and why he had returned thence. So many
sail to those distant havens of the unsuccessful under one cloud and
return under another, that it seems wiser to remain stationary and
snatch what passing sunshine there may be. Roden had not a colonial
manner. He was well dressed. He was, in fact, the sort of man who would
pass in any society. And it is probable that Mrs. Vansittart summed him
up in her quick mind with perfect success. Despite our clothes, despite
our airs and graces, we mostly appear to be exactly what we are. Mrs.
Vansittart, who knew the world and men, did not need to be informed by
Percy Roden that he was unacquainted with the Continent. Comparing him
with the other men passing through the _salon_ to their rooms or their
club, it became apparent that he had one sort of stiffness which they
had not, and lacked another sort of stiffness which grows upon those
who live and take their meals in public places. Mrs. Vansittart could
probably have made a fair guess at the sort of education Percy Roden
had received. For a man carries his school mark through life with him.

"Ah," she said, taking the newspaper and glancing at it with just
sufficient interest to prolong the conversation, "then you do not know
The Hague. It is a place that grows upon one. It is one of the social
capitals of the world. Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, are the others.
Madrid, Berlin, New York, are--nowhere."