"Then you had no business to. Dear Jim! I shall be delighted to see him again. He is one of the few really reasonable people I know. He has got some sort of plan of his own; he has always known what he meant to do, though he has not always done it. For instance, he wanted impossible things; he had no money and I had none, so he proposed that we should marry and support ourselves by his writings. He has appeared before now in Christmas numbers." "Then, perhaps you acted wisely. But he rolls in wealth now. A South African millionaire, without anything South African about him: no local colour, in fact. He is also remarkably handsome. Wealth, manners, good looks! A fairy-prince combination." Lady Alston laughed. "Dear me! I shall like to see Jim with society at his feet," she said. "You make certain it will go there?" Lady Alston raised her eyebrows. "My dear, how can you ask? He is rich--that is sufficient alone." "He must not kick us, then. It is to be understood he gives us halfpence, golden halfpence. And it is very interesting--that story about him and you, I mean." Lady Alston did not at once reply. "You give one a bad taste in the mouth sometimes, Mildred," she said at length. "Very possibly. And you always tell one that one has done so." "I know. That is why we are friends." Mrs. Brereton looked doubtful. "In spite of it, I should say." "No, because of it. Ah! here is Jack." Jack Alston was one of those people whom it was quite unnecessary to point out, because he was distinctly visible not only to the outward, but also to the inward eye. He was so large, that is to say, that you could not fail to notice that he had come into a room, and at the same time, he had about him the quality of making himself felt in some subtle and silent manner. As a rule he spoke but little; but his silence, as Mildred Brereton once remarked with more than her usual insight, took up all the time. It could not be described as a rich silence, for it was essentially dry, but somehow it compelled attention. Probably, if he had been short and squat, it would have passed unnoticed, but coming as it did from him, it was charged with a certain force, partaking of his own quality. Also it was doubly unnecessary for his wife to call attention to his entrance, for on no one did it produce such an effect as on her. Thus, on this occasion, having remarked on it, she said no more. Jack lounged slowly into the balcony, shook hands with Mrs. Brereton, and sat down on a basket chair sideways to his wife, so that he looked straight at her profile. "Decent afternoon for once, Mildred," he said. "Summer at last. You look summery, too." "What there is left of me," said she. "Marie has been taking the hide off us all--skinning us." Jack considered this a moment. "Well, you look all right skinned," he said at length. "Bad habit of Marie's, though. What has she been skinning you about?" "She's been telling me we are all wicked and stupid, and vicious and vulgar."