"Never again. He's a red Jew--always beware of red Jews; black Jews are bad, but red Jews are the devil--bad luck to them! If I'd left Jews alone, a richer man I'd have been this day. Who's that ringing a bell? Oh, it's the afternoon tea-bell: let's go in and talk to the old professor and Miss Pursehouse." They did not go in, for the Professor and Miss Pursehouse, Lulu Morgan, and the author of the "Pillar of Salt" were having tea on the lawn. There were few places pleasanter than the lawn of "The Roost," especially on this golden and peaceful summer's evening, through which the warm south wind brought the cawing of rooks from distant elm trees. "Have you two finished your business?" asked Pamela, addressing Charles; "if so, sit down and tell me all the news. I got your note. So sorry you were bored by old Mr--Blundell--was it?--at the club. Mr Blundell is a rose-bore, it seems," turning to Hamilton Cox; "he is mad on roses." "Blundell! what an excellent name for a bore!" said the "Pillar of Salt" man dreamily, closing his eyes. "I can see him, stout and red-faced and----" "Matter of fact, old Blundell isn't stout," cut in Charles, to whom Hamilton-Cox did not appeal. "He's thin and white." "_All_ white?" "No, his face, you know." "Ah! I had connected him with the idea of red roses. Why is it that in thinking of roses one always figures them red?" "Sure, I don't know--I never do." "I do." "Well," put in Pamela, "when you escaped from Mr Blundell what did you do with yourself that day--smoked, I suppose, and went to Tattersal's?" "No, I was busy." "What was the business--luncheon?" "Yes," said Charles Bevan, feeling that he was humorous in his reply, and feeling rather a sneak, too. "Luncheon was part of the business." The remembrance of the fried whiting rose before him, backed by a vision of Susannah holding in one hand a bottle of Böllinger, and in the other a bottle of Gold-water. CHAPTER II MISS MORGAN It is so easy not to do some things. Bevan, had he acted correctly, ought to have informed Mr Lambert of his visit to Highgate and all that therein lay, yet he did not. There was nothing to hide, yet, as Sir Boyle-Roche might have said, he hid it. During tea several things occupied his mind very much. The vision of Fanny Lambert was constantly before him, so was the person of her father. He could not but acknowledge that Lambert was a most attractive personage--attractive to men, to women, to children, to dogs, cats--anything that could see and feel, in fact. Everything seemed to brighten in his presence. Hamilton-Cox's dictum that if Lambert could be bottled he would make the most excellent Burgundy, was not far wrong. Bevan, as he sipped his tea, watched the genial Lambert, and could not but notice that he paid very marked attention to Pamela, and even more marked attention to old Miss Jenkins, her aunt.