“No--they’re only, like all the modern young, I think, mysteries, terrible little baffling mysteries.” Vanderbank had found amusement again--it flickered so from his friend’s face that, really at moments to the point of alarm, his explanations deepened darkness. Then with more interest he harked back. “I know the thing you just mentioned--the thing that strikes you as odd.” He produced his knowledge quite with elation. “The talk.” Mr. Longdon on this only looked at him in silence and harder, but he went on with assurance: “Yes, the talk--for we do talk, I think.” Still his guest left him without relief, only fixing him and his suggestion with a suspended judgement. Whatever the old man was on the point of saying, however, he disposed of in a curtailed murmur; he had already turned afresh to the series of portraits, and as he glanced at another Vanderbank spoke afresh. “It was very interesting to me to hear from you there, when the ladies had left us, how many old threads you were prepared to pick up.” Mr. Longdon had paused. “I’m an old boy who remembers the mothers,” he at last replied. “Yes, you told me how well you remember Mrs. Brookenham’s.” “Oh, oh!”--and he arrived at a new subject. “This must be your sister Mary.” “Yes; it’s very bad, but as she’s dead--” “Dead? Dear, dear!” “Oh long ago”--Vanderbank eased him off. “It’s delightful of you,” this informant went on, “to have known also such a lot of MY people.” Mr. Longdon turned from his contemplation with a visible effort. “I feel obliged to you for taking it so; it mightn’t--one never knows--have amused you. As I told you there, the first thing I did was to ask Fernanda about the company; and when she mentioned your name I immediately said: ‘Would he like me to speak to him?’” “And what did Fernanda say?” Mr. Longdon stared. “Do YOU call her Fernanda?” Vanderbank felt ever so much more guilty than he would have expected. “You think it too much in the manner we just mentioned?” His friend hesitated; then with a smile a trifle strange: “Pardon me; _I_ didn’t mention--” “No, you didn’t; and your scruple was magnificent. In point of fact,” Vanderbank pursued, “I DON’T call Mrs. Brookenham by her Christian name.” Mr. Longdon’s clear eyes were searching. “Unless in speaking of her to others?” He seemed really to wish to know. Vanderbank was but too ready to satisfy him. “I dare say we seem to you a vulgar lot of people. That’s not the way, I can see, you speak of ladies at Beccles.” “Oh if you laugh at me--!” And his visitor turned off. “Don’t threaten me,” said Vanderbank, “or I WILL send away the cab. Of course I know what you mean. It will be tremendously interesting to hear how the sort of thing we’ve fallen into--oh we HAVE fallen in!--strikes your fresh, your uncorrupted ear. Do have another cigarette. Sunk as I must appear to you it sometimes strikes even mine. But I’m not sure as regards Mrs. Brookenham, whom I’ve known a long time.”