“The little lads!” Mr. Kinosling smiled. “They have their games, their outdoor sports, their pastimes. The young muscles are toughening. The sun will not harm them. They grow; they expand; they learn. They learn fair play, honour, courtesy, from one another, as pebbles grow round in the brook. They learn more from themselves than from us. They take shape, form, outline. Let them.” “Mr. Kinosling!” Another spinster--undeterred by what had happened to Miss Beam--leaned fair forward, her face shining and ardent. “Mr. Kinosling, there's a question I DO wish to ask you.” “My dear Miss Cosslit,” Mr. Kinosling responded, again waving his hand and watching it, “I am entirely at your disposal.” “WAS Joan of Arc,” she asked fervently, “inspired by spirits?” He smiled indulgently. “Yes--and no,” he said. “One must give both answers. One must give the answer, yes; one must give the answer, no.” “Oh, THANK you!” said Miss Cosslit, blushing. “She's one of my great enthusiasms, you know.” “And I have a question, too,” urged Mrs. Lora Rewbush, after a moment's hasty concentration. “'I've never been able to settle it for myself, but NOW----” “Yes?” said Mr. Kinosling encouragingly. “Is--ah--is--oh, yes: Is Sanskrit a more difficult language than Spanish, Mr. Kinosling?” “It depends upon the student,” replied the oracle smiling. “One must not look for linguists everywhere. In my own especial case--if one may cite one's self as an example--I found no great, no insurmountable difficulty in mastering, in conquering either.” “And may _I_ ask one?” ventured Mrs. Bassett. “Do you think it is right to wear egrets?” “There are marks of quality, of caste, of social distinction,” Mr. Kinosling began, “which must be permitted, allowed, though perhaps regulated. Social distinction, one observes, almost invariably implies spiritual distinction as well. Distinction of circumstances is accompanied by mental distinction. Distinction is hereditary; it descends from father to son, and if there is one thing more true than 'Like father, like son,' it is--” he bowed gallantly to Mrs. Bassett--“it is, 'Like mother, like son.' What these good ladies have said this afternoon of YOUR----” This was the fatal instant. There smote upon all ears the voice of Georgie, painfully shrill and penetrating--fraught with protest and protracted, strain. His plain words consisted of the newly sanctioned and disinfected curse with a big H. With an ejaculation of horror, Mrs. Bassett sprang to the window and threw open the blinds.