"Where are they?" she asked; "anywhere this way?" "No; unfortunately they're a long way off. That's the drawback to town, isn't it? Everybody lives at such a distance from everybody else." "Oh, I don't know," she said; "one can get about so quickly nowadays. What part are they in?" "Nina lives in Regent's Park," he replied, "where the mists are." "Oh, really? Regent's Park?" She seemed impressed. "I was wondering whether she would care to join our Thursday debates--we want to get as many members as we can. Two of the ladies come over from Wandsworth, but from Regent's Park it would be a drag certainly. Shall I put in sugar and milk?" "Please." He took the cup, and sat down again--and knew that he had entered on that grade of society where there are no more men and women, and they all become "ladies" and "gentlemen." "And the other one--'Gina?" she continued. He felt very uncomfortable; he wouldn't say "Mayfair." "'Gina lives further west," he murmured. "No, I won't have any cake, thank you." "Then your cousins are quite high up?" she exclaimed. "'High up?'" "They're quite swells?" "Oh!" he shrugged his shoulders. "No, I don't think I should call them that. Too swell for me, rather, but then I'm half a Colonial, and the other half a bohemian. I haven't been Home long--it's all strange to me; until I came out here to-day I had no idea London could be so picturesque. How glorious your Common must be in the summer!" "So healthy!" she said promptly; "the air is so fine. We moved here from the West-end for the children's sake." "You have children?" "Oh!" she rolled her eyes again. "Four, Mr. Warrener. My eldest boy is getting quite big--people tell me they wouldn't believe he was mine at all, but it makes me feel quite old sometimes, to look at him. I think it's cruel of children to grow up, don't you?" He stifled a sad assent. "Sometimes they grow up still more charming," he said. "Oh, now, that's very sweet of you! Now really that's very pretty. But I mean to say I think it's cruel to us when they shoot up so fast. You're not married yourself yet, eh?" "No, I hate asking favours." "What a modest way of putting it! But you should. A good wife would be the making of you, and give you something to think about. Don't you know that?" "I'm sure of it. A man can have no greater blessing than a good wife--excepting none," he concluded mentally. "Shall I be allowed to see them before I go?" "The children? Would you like to? Dudley is out, but the others are just going to have tea in the next room. My husband isn't back from the city yet, of course. Oh, the city! What a hold it does get on you men. As if it really mattered whether you made an extra thousand pounds one month or not!" A trayful of crockery rattled, and the footsteps of the little servant thudded through the passage. "You're quite right," said Conrad. "What does it matter, when one comes to think of it?"