Eddie, unconscious of his own infantile innocence, smiled at her naïveness, but admired her. "I’ll see that you get a chance," he said. "And I’ll help you to learn, if you like. If you’ll study, I’ll give you what spare time I can." "All right," said Angelica. "That’ll be fine! Only," she added, "what I want isn’t exactly things you study out of books. It’s--good manners, and the right way of talking." "You’ll pick up all that from Mrs. Geraldine," returned Eddie. "You couldn’t find a better model. By the way, how did you get on with her to-day?" "I guess she liked me. She said she wanted me to stay." "That’s good!" he cried, very much pleased. "If Polly’ll take an interest in you, you’ll be absolutely all right. She’s a splendid woman." "But she’s so much _older_ than you!" thought Angelica. "It’s so queer!" "Yes," he went on, "Polly’s one of the best. Of course she’s not herself now, losing the little chap. He was nearly two years old, and a fine little fellow. Poor girl! She was wrapped up in him. We all were, for that matter." Angelica was puzzled. "But," she said, "don’t you----” "Don’t I what?" "I mean--it must be nearly as bad for you as for her." "_What?_ Why, there’s no comparison between a son and a nephew." "For Gawd’s sake! Wasn’t he your son?" "Of course not! My dear girl, you didn’t think I was Polly’s husband, did you?" "Yes, I did," she faltered. "I’m her brother-in-law. She’s my brother’s wife." "Oh! She’s a widow, then?" "No, no, no! He’s alive. He’s here, in this house; but he’s a poet, you know, and when he’s working he shuts himself up for days at a time. He’s a queer chap--a regular genius." "That’s pretty hard on his wife, I should say." "That’s what the wife of a fellow like Vincent must expect. He is a bit trying, but you have to make allowances. He’s very remarkable--writes beautiful stuff." "I don’t like po’try," said Angelica, who had already taken a dislike to this brother. "I’m not very fond of it, either, but I admire it." "I don’t," she persisted. "You shouldn’t say that. It’s childish. Every one admires poetry." She maintained an obstinate silence. Eddie was rather at a loss. He believed that every one ought to admire poets; he faithfully endeavored to do so, and had made himself believe that he had succeeded. He felt that his brother was a genius, accountable to no one, and not to be blamed for faults which seemed to Eddie peculiarly disgusting and unmanly; but he didn’t know how to make Angelica admire his brother. Even the fact of Vincent’s genius was by no means established, and could not be demonstrated to an outsider, for he had never published anything yet, nor attempted to do so. "He’s a very interesting chap," Eddie said. "Very!" "Well, I’m glad he’s not my husband," said Angelica. "Shutting himself up like that--wouldn’t suit _me_!" Eddie frowned. "I should think it was a privilege to be the wife of--of a genius." Again Angelica was silent.