"I don't know who he is, but I have just seen himself," replied Mr. Chandos. "He came in at our gates, deeming Chandos public property. I had to warn him off by telling him it was private." "What did he want?" asked Lady Chandos. "Nothing, except to look about him. Had I known he was your new tenant, I might not have been in so great a hurry to eject him." "Oh, but, Harry, it was as well to do it. Better to let him understand from the first that we cannot have strangers entering here at will. It would not suit me, you know; I like privacy." "That is what I told him." "I suppose you were civil?" "Quite civil, both of us—on the surface, at any rate. I did not take to him at first sight; that is, to his looks; and I don't fancy he took to me. There was something peculiar in the tone of his voice, and he eyed me as though he wished to take my photograph." "He did not know you, I daresay." "He said he supposed he was speaking to Mr. Harry Chandos. Perhaps he thought it discourteous to be warned off in that manner. Not that he looks like one to go in for much courtesy himself: there was an air of independence about him _almost_ bordering upon insolence. This young lady, I fancy, was not prepossessed in his favour." I had sat with my head bent on my plate, trying to seem unconcerned, as if the matter were no business of mine. The sudden address of Mr. Chandos turned my face crimson. Lady Chandos looked at me. "He—is very ugly," I stammered in my perplexity. "Is he?" she cried, turning to her son. "He is rather ill-favoured, mother; a short, dark man. There's one redeeming feature in his face; his teeth. They are small, white, and regular: very beautiful." "What is his name?" "I don't know," said Mr. Chandos. "Not know his name!" repeated Lady Chandos, laughing slightly; "and yet you accepted him as tenant!" "Oh, well, Dexter made all the arrangements. I did not interfere personally." "I think, before I accepted a man as tenant, I should make myself acquainted with his name," spoke Lady Chandos, in a half-joking tone, evidently attaching no importance to the matter. "Do you happen to have heard it, Hickens?" "No, my lady." "We shall learn it soon enough," carelessly observed Mr. Chandos. "A man may not make a less desirable tenant because he happens not to have a handsome face. Tastes differ, you know, Miss Hereford. Were we all bought and sold by our looks, what a squabbling of opinions there'd be!" The meal was nearly over, when a startling interruption occurred. Mrs. Chandos burst wildly into the room, agitated, trembling; her hands raised, her face ashy white. Mr. Chandos threw down his knife and fork, and rose in consternation. "Oh, Lady Chandos! Oh, Harry!" came the words, almost in a shriek. "Do come! She has fallen on the carpet in a fit—or something. I think she may be dying!"