"Where is Daisy? I want her," Nigel was saying when Daisy flung the door open. "Here's Mr. Elvey come to call on Nigel," quoth Daisy, still with lifted chin and injured voice. Fulvia did not get up. She shot one indignant glance at the culprit, then held out a hand streaked with paint. "Daisy ought to have taken you to the drawing-room," she said. "We don't keep this in trim for callers." Tom assured her that it was a charming room—delightful, natural, unsophisticated. He seemed bent upon using all the adjectives he could find. Nigel's greeting was polite, but not of the most cordial description; for it might be that this fellow was to carry off his dearest hope before his eyes. He could not be warm. Tom seemed blissfully unconscious of any lack of welcome. He deposited his hat on one chair, and sat down upon another, into an open box of paints. Fulvia uttered a warning word too late, and Daisy shrieked, then collapsed into a convulsion of laughter. Tom got up, looking mildly at the box, which had suffered dilapidation from his weight, and walked to the chimney-piece. He could not better have displayed the streaky state of his own coat, one glimpse of which in rear sent the younger girl into a fresh paroxysm. "Daisy!" Nigel said, under his breath, in displeasure. "Daisy!!" Daisy hid her face behind the nearest window-curtain, and only an occasional choke was audible. Tom's smile was benignity itself. "I have a sister about her age, I should say," he observed. "A very merry age!" Choke again. "This room seems to be a receptacle for curiosities," meditated Tom, poking a little object on the mantelpiece with his awkward fingers. "I thought this was—a—but I see you have an elephant's tooth there, quite a good specimen; yes, killed no doubt in your travels?" He looked at Nigel. "It has lain on that shelf for thirty years, I believe," Nigel answered. "Not on that shelf! In the house, if you like," murmured Fulvia. Nigel laughed; he had spoken absently. "An Indian elephant, no doubt," Tom said, regarding the specimen critically. "I believe the—a—the molar tusks of the African elephant are—a—somewhat differently formed." Tom was not sure of his ground, but he had to keep up his character for learning. "And the grinders?" asked Fulvia. Tom was alarmed. Here might be a modern bluestocking of great attainments, before whom he must be cautious. He had not seen much of Fulvia hitherto, for she was not what Daisy called "addicted to the Elveys." But he had heard her spoken of as "out of the common," and her frizzly reddish-golden head looked "clever" in Tom's estimation.