"I think it will be well for you to cease to be my housekeeper at Pyechurch, Mrs. Bride. People will ask you about our relations of course, because by the sea there is so much time for idle curiosity; and you had better tell them that you are a cousin of mine. That is nothing but the truth, for you are undoubtedly a red Deeping; and all the Deepings, red or neutral-tinted, are cousins, first, second, third, fourth, and so on, of mine." "Yes, sir," said Pollyooly gravely. "Also I think that you had better give yourself a few airs. You will have a better time that way, for airs procure you a welcome in the best circles. Be a red Deeping--not too truculent, you know, but firm." Pollyooly's eyes sparkled a little; and she said: "Yes, sir: I should like to. I like being a red Deeping, sir, rather. I liked it when I was at Ricksborough Court." "Good. You have the right spirit. One of these days you will become what the newspapers call a society leader. I foresee it," he said in a tone of the most assured conviction. "Yes, sir," said Pollyooly. "There's one difficulty though, and that's your hands. At present they're hardly the hands of a red Deeping," he said thoughtfully. "Not that they're not small and well-shaped!" he interjected hastily. "But I expect that a week's idleness will let your nails grow; and brushing will do the rest." "Yes, sir," said Pollyooly. She had never considered her hands from the aesthetic standpoint. She had been content to keep them clean. She considered them now, ruefully. It is indeed hard to do the work of two sets of chambers in the Temple without the hands showing it. Her nails were very short and rather jagged; a thumbnail was broken; the skin about them was rough and broken. She looked from them to the white, carefully kept hands, with pink shining nails, of the Honourable John Ruffin, and sighed. "I think that for the future you'd better work in gloves," he said in a sympathetic tone. "I think I'd better try," said Pollyooly doubtfully. To her firm spirit the idea of working in gloves savoured of dilettantism. "You see a lady--and all red Deepings are gentlefolk of course--a lady must have good hands," said the Honourable John Ruffin in a deprecating tone. "Yes, sir," said Pollyooly solemnly. It was the first time that the meaning of the fact that the Deeping blood ran in her veins had been brought home to her; and she flushed faintly with honourable pride at the thought that she was a lady, for all that she did the work of two sets of chambers in the Temple. She sat a little more upright. "And there's another thing," he went on. "At Pyechurch I shall call you Pollyooly; and you will call me John, or cousin John." "I--I'll try to remember, sir," said Pollyooly, again flushing with pride. "You'll soon get into it," said the Honourable John Ruffin cheerfully. "And it will be very nice for me to have a cousin always to hand."