"I got your drawings, Serge," Frederic spoke in rather a loud voice. He wanted to attract Jessie Clibran-Bell's attention. "I lent them to old Lawrie, the dramatic critic. He showed them to some friends of his, and they say you must have an exhibition. We'll make your fortune, yet. They say Africa's very much in the air just now." "Are you a painter, Mr. Folyat?" asked Jessie Clibran-Bell. "One of Frederic's friends says I'm a genius," replied Serge. "Oh! then you won't stay here. All the geniuses go to London. We had a cousin who wrote books and she went to America and made a lot of money." "I didn't say I was a genius. I only said one of Frederic's friends said I was a genius. It does not follow that it is true." "You shall judge for yourself, Jessie," said Frederic. "How can she judge?" asked Serge. "She doesn't know anything about it." Jessie went pink and her neck stiffened, and she turned to Frederic. He produced the drawings from the portfolio and placed them round the room, and an impromptu exhibition was held. Serge told them which they ought to admire, and they admired them. On the whole they were puzzled rather than interested. They were soon exhausted as a subject of discussion, and Frederic, having drawn Jessie away from Serge, began to tell her of his experience at old Lawrie's house. Presently his voice drowned all the rest and all in the room were listening. "I asked young Bennett Lawrie to supper next Sunday," he said. "He's very beautiful, isn't he, Gertie?" observed Minna pointedly. "You know him then?" asked Frederic. "He's an acolyte at St. Saviour's. We've been to St. Saviour's once or twice, haven't we Gertie?" "Have we?" Gertrude's face was a brilliant Turkey red. Mrs. Folyat wagged her head. "I don't think your father will like your filling the house with young men." "Rubbish, mother," said Serge. "Every house ought to be filled with young men and young women. Houses are quite intolerable unless people are making love in them." "My dear!" "They've got to make love somewhere." Frederic caught Jessie's eye, and with a little swagger he said: "Yes. But we don't talk about it." "Good gracious me," said Serge with a laugh, "men and women hardly talk about anything else. If they don't talk they think the more, and that's bad for them." "I think you are disgusting," said Gertrude, tartly, and left the room. "Is he a nice young man, this Bennett Lawrie?" asked Mrs. Folyat. "He's the queerest fish I ever met. His father's quite dotty." "I'd like to know him," interrupted Serge. "The boy's as nervous as a cat and as soft as a woman. He nearly cried with gratitude when I asked him to come. They live opposite the Haslams--Basil Haslam's a painter, or going to be one." "Oh! Minna knows him," said Mary with sudden malice.