Then Noel grinned again, rather sheepishly. For once he was reaping the just reward of his impudence. "You are a humourist, my young friend," continued Ingram, blandly. "I am an Idealist. All my life--and I am exactly thirty seven--I have been seeking 'the impossible she.' That does not mean" (interrupting himself, as though he feared to be misunderstood) "any individual woman. Oh dear, no; originality is my favourite fetish." Mollie looked bewildered, but she was rather impressed by this fine flow of words, but Noel's eyes brightened. "Was this not a man and a brother?" "Women don't understand that sort of thing," he observed, confidentially; "they never laugh at the right jokes unless you label them;" and here Noel threw up his head and cocked his chin. "That is why I have taken to drawing--a picture pleases the poor things, and the funnier you make it, the more they like it." "Indeed!" remarked Ingram, mildly. And then he looked at the handsome lad with unfeigned approval. "It is for your sister's benefit that you do these clever sketches? I am an artist myself--an embryo artist, I ought to say, for I have never sold a picture--but I recognise a brother in the art." Then Noel, who detected irony in the smooth voice, looked a little sulky. "It is not clever a bit," he growled; "it is beastly rot. I did it to get a rise out of Waveney--Waveney is the other one, you know." "Did you say Waveney? I never recollect hearing the name before." "No. It is a queer sort of name. Father had a great-aunt Waveney. When I want something short and handy, don't you know, I call her Storm-and-stress." "Upon my word, Miss Ward, your brother is perfectly dangerous. If I stay here any longer I shall take the infection. I told you my special and particular fetish was originality. I seem to have met it here. Thank you"--as Mollie meekly handed him his hat--"I have trespassed on your kind hospitality far too long already. With your kind permission I will call again, in the hope of seeing your sister." "What could I say?" asked Mollie, anxiously, when she related the account of the afternoon. The sisters were safely shut up in their own room--a large front room over the studio. Mr. Ward slept in the little room behind. "I could not say, 'No, please do not come, I am _sure_ Waveney does not want to see you!'" "Why no, of course not. You did quite right, Mollie dear. Did not dad say he showed his gratitude in a very gentlemanly way. And as for Noel, he has been talking about him all the evening." "Yes, Noel took a fancy to him; and Wave, I do think he must be nice; he says droll things in a soft, sleepy sort of voice, and I am afraid I was rather stupid and did not always understand; but his eyes looked kind and gentle. I was _not_ afraid of him after the first few minutes."