"Kent has more than 'aptitude,'" he said. "He has power. Perhaps he'll always work too much for himself and the reviewers to attract the widest public. Perhaps he's a trifle inclined to over-do the analytical element in his stuff; but that's the worst that can be said. And, then, it's a question of taste. For myself, I'm a believer, in the introspective school, and I think his method's It." "Schools" and "methods" were meaningless to the lady in such a connection. Novels were novels, and they were either "good" or they were "rubbish," if she understood anything about them--and she had read them all her life. She looked perplexed, and reiterated the phrase that she had already used. "Oh, extremely clever, brilliant--most brilliant, really! I quite agree with you." "Your son writes, did you say, Mrs. Walford?" "Oh no, not writes--no! No, my son sings. He sings. He is studying for the operatic stage." Her tone couldn't have been more impressive if she had said he was de Reszke. "His voice is quite magnificent." "Really!" he replied with interest. "That's a great gift--a voice." "He is 'coming out' soon," she said. "He--er--could get an engagement at any moment, but--he is so conscientious. He feels he must do himself justice when he makes his debut. Justice. In professional circles he is thought an immense amount of--immense!" "Has he sung at any concerts?" "In private," she explained--"socially. He visits among musicians a great deal. And of course it makes it very lively for us. He is quite --er--in the swim!" "You're to be congratulated on your family," said Turquand. "With such a son, and a daughter like Miss Walford----" "Yes, she is very much admired," she admitted--"very much! But a strange girl, Mr. Turquand. You wouldn't believe how strange!" He did not press her to put him to the test, but she supplied the particulars as if glad of the opportunity. He remarked that, in narrating matters of which she was proud, she adopted a breathless, staccato delivery, which provoked the suspicion that she was inventing the facts as she went on. "She is _most_ peculiar," she insisted. "The matches she has refused! Appalling!" "No?" he said. "A Viscount!" she gasped. "She refused a Viscount in Monte Carlo last year. A splendid fellow! Enormously wealthy. Perfectly wild about her. She wouldn't look at him." "You astonish me," he murmured. Mrs. Walford shook her head speechlessly, with closed eyes. "And there were others," she said in a reviving spasm--"dazzling positions! Treated them like dirt. She said, if she didn't care for a man, nothing would induce her. What can one do with such a romantic goose? Be grateful that you aren't a mother, Mr. Turquand." "Some day," he opined, without returning thanks, "the young lady will be induced."