"Oh, very well. Well, he was very kind too, and so were the Miss Hamiltons. It was very nice indeed, and they took so much notice of me--asked me all sorts of questions. Sometimes I scarcely knew what to answer. I think they thought because I had been brought up in Italy, I ought to have spoken with a strong accent, and looked utterly different to themselves. I think they were a little disappointed, uncle." "Oh," he said, "and who else was there?" "Oh, the clergyman, Mr. Fielding--a very solemn gentleman indeed. He said he didn't see much of you, and hoped he should see me in church." Mr. Etheridge rubbed his head and looked rather guilty. "I expect that was a back-handed knock for me, Stella," he said rather ruefully. "You see I don't go to church often. I always mean to go, but I generally forget the time, or I wander into the fields, or up into the woods, and forget all about the church till it's too late." "But that's very wicked, abominably so," said Stella, gravely, but with a twinkle in her dark eyes. "I must look after your morals as well as your meals, I see, uncle." "Yes," he assented, meekly--"do, do." "Well, then there was a Mr. Adelstone, a young gentleman from London. He was quite the lion of the evening. I think he was a nephew of Mr. Fielding's." The old man nodded. "Yes; and did you like him?" Stella thought a moment, holding the cream-jug critically over the coffee-cup. "Not much, uncle. It was very wrong, and very bad taste, I am afraid, for they all seemed to admire him immensely, and so did he himself." Mr. Etheridge looked at her rather alarmed. "I must say, Stella, you get too critical. I don't think we are quite used to it." She laughed. "I don't fancy Mr. Adelstone was at all conscious of adverse criticism; he seemed quite satisfied with everybody, himself in particular. He certainly was beautifully dressed, and he had the dearest little hands and feet in the world; and his hair was parted to a hair, and as smooth as a black-and-tan terrier's; so that he had some grounds for satisfaction." "What did he do to offend you, Stella?" asked the old man, rather shrewdly. She laughed again, and a little touch of color came into her face, but she answered quite frankly: "He paid me compliments, uncle." "That doesn't offend your sex generally, Stella." "It offends me," said Stella, quickly. "I--I detest them! especially when the man who pays them does it with a self-satisfied smile which shows that he is thinking more of his own eloquence and gallantry than of the person he is flattering." The old man looked at her. "Will you oblige me by telling me your age again?" he said. She laughed. "Am I too wise, uncle? Well, never mind--I'll promise to be good and stupid, if you like. But you are not eating any breakfast; and you must not keep looking at that odious easel all the time, as if you were longing to get back to it. Did you ever see a jealous woman?" "No, never."