Turning toward him for further information, she could not help thinking how much more he was in harmony with a tale of pearls and mystery and human blood than with jam or currant jelly. As he made no answer but sat gazing absently at the fire, she expressed a hope that his youthful nose had not collided with the stairs or with the fist of some larger boy. “No, not that exactly,” he replied, with his eyes still upon the fire. “It is a long story and would not interest you.” Then looking up, he continued, with more animation, “I am glad there is a possibility of your coming to Daleford. It is an ideal place to be quiet in.” “So Mr. Fettiplace tells us, but you are mistaken about the history of the jacket. It _would_ interest me, and I should like extremely to hear it; unless of course you prefer not to tell it.” “If you wish to hear it that is reason enough for the telling, but--isn’t it rather cruel to force a man to talk only about himself?” “No; not in this case. It gives an opportunity to prove, by the perfection of your boyhood, that you are less vile than you believe Horace Bennett to have painted you.” “That would be impossible. No human record could wipe out an effect once laid in by such a hand. Besides, there is nothing in the jacket to repair a damaged reputation.” “The fact of telling the story will count in your favor.” “In that case I will make an effort.” He rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, slowly stroking the back of his head as if uncertain where to begin. “It is really a foolish thing to do,” he said at last, “but if you are relentless I suppose there is no escape. In the first place, to begin at the very beginning, there was a little court with arches all around it, with grass in the centre and a fountain at each corner. On the marble steps, at one end, we were all sitting, a dozen or more children, watching a man with a bear and two monkeys. These monkeys had sham fights. One was dressed like an English soldier with a red jacket, and he always got the worst of it. It was great fun and we all laughed.” “Where was this?” “In India. At the very beginning of the show, when the English monkey for a moment was on top, a servant rushed into the court and dragged me away. It was a barbarous deed, and I was ugly; as disagreeable probably as Horace Bennett could have wished. So I only lose ground, you see, by telling this story.” “Never mind. Unless you tell it I shall believe the worst.” “Well, looking back as I was dragged along, the last thing I saw was the red monkey being chased and beaten by the white one, and they scrambled right up the bear’s back. In the chamber where we went that white jacket was brought out and I made another row, for I knew it meant a long and tiresome performance in which I had to keep still and behave myself.” “A performance on a stage?”