‘Scarcely any. My uncle does not visit. We know Canon Ponsonby, and Mrs. Ponsonby called upon me, and was very kind. Then I have a few friends of my own peculiar kind, you know.’ ‘I know. Old apple-women at street-corners; working-people; unhappy youths who want a few lessons in this and that--eh?’ ‘Yes,’ said Adrienne, smiling. ‘Then Myles Heywood is not counted amongst your friends?’ said Sebastian, composedly, glancing aside at Mr. Blisset, to assure himself that that gentleman was absorbed in his newspaper. ‘Yes, he is,’ said Adrienne, raising her head. ‘He is a friend both of my uncle’s and mine.’ ‘Is it allowable to ask how you made his acquaintance?’ Adrienne suddenly crimsoned, while Sebastian unkindly continued steadfastly to watch her. He had been piecing different facts and inferences together in his mind, and was rather anxiously awaiting her answer. ‘It is not allowable?’ he said. ‘I beg your pardon.’ ‘Yes, it is, quite,’ retorted she, somewhat recovering herself. ‘I met Myles Heywood a few weeks ago, not more. I used to have some work that I did at the public reading-room, and he used to read there too. He rendered me a very kind service on one occasion, and has been a friend and a visitor here ever since.’ Sebastian bowed politely. ‘He interested me,’ said he, with a rather ambiguous smile. ‘I wished to know more of him; but he declines every advance I make to him.’ Adrienne was silent. Sebastian, with a laudable thirst for information, went on, in the same calm, matter-of-fact voice, ‘I begin to think that in his case appearances deceive me’ (Adrienne looked rapidly up and down again). ‘There is something wonderfully attractive about his face and manner. He appears so very superior to his class, and yet I begin to fancy there must be some fatal defect of temper--some moral want.’ ‘You are mistaken,’ said she, in a voice which, though low, was so clear and decided as to startle Sebastian. The information he wished for appeared to be readily forthcoming--whether it were of a pleasant nature or not, he could hardly yet say. ‘You think so? You think it is not mere churlishness?’ he said, purposely using a strong word. ‘He has not a grain of the churl in him.’ ‘Indeed! Then he must have well-developed imitative faculties,’ said Sebastian, with a politely sceptical accent, which he had often found useful as a conversational weapon. It was successful upon this occasion. Adrienne answered quickly, ‘You must not think him churlish. It would be a grievous mistake to make. He has a most generous disposition. You should see him at home with his sister and his cripple brother--they are friends of mine too, and his deaf friend, Harry Ashworth. You would not misjudge him then. Those people know his heart, as it is--and they all adore him. Churlish--no!’ ‘Well, does he behave in such an extraordinary way to Mr. Blisset? Does he look at him as if he would say, “Thus far, and no farther. Keep your distance if you please”?’