It was quite what she meant. “Always. I shall see all the people who come. It will be a great thing for me. I want to hear all the talk. Mr. Mitchett says I ought to--that it helps to form the young mind. I hoped, for that reason,” she went on with the directness that made her honesty almost violent--“I hoped there would be more people here to-day.” “I’m very glad there are not!”--the old man rang equally clear. “Mr. Vanderbank kindly arranged the matter for me just this way. I met him at dinner, at your mother’s, three weeks ago, and he brought me home here that night, when, as knowing you so differently, we took the liberty of talking you all over. It naturally had the effect of making me want to begin with you afresh--only that seemed difficult too without further help. This he good-naturedly offered me; he said”--and Mr. Longdon recovered his spirits to repeat it--“‘Hang it, I’ll have ‘em here for you!’” “I see--he knew we’d come.” Then she caught herself up. “But we haven’t come, have we?” “Oh it’s all right--it’s all right. To me the occasion’s brilliant and the affluence great. I’ve had such talk with those young men--” “I see”--she was again prompt, but beyond any young person he had ever met she might have struck him as literal. “You’re not used to such talk. Neither am I. It’s rather wonderful, isn’t it? They’re thought awfully clever, Mr. Van and Mr. Mitchy. Do you like them?” she pushed on. Mr. Longdon, who, as compared with her, might have struck a spectator as infernally subtle, took an instant to think. “I’ve never met Mr. Mitchett before.” “Well, he always thinks one doesn’t like him,” Nanda explained. “But one does. One ought to,” she added. Her companion had another pause. “He likes YOU.” Oh Mr. Longdon needn’t have hesitated! “I know he does. He has told mother. He has told lots of people.” “He has told even you,” Mr. Longdon smiled. “Yes--but that isn’t the same. I don’t think he’s a bit dreadful,” she pursued. Still, there was a greater interest. “Do you like Mr. Van?” This time her interlocutor indeed hung fire. “How can I tell? He dazzles me.” “But don’t you like that?” Then before he could really say: “You’re afraid he may be false?” At this he fairly laughed. “You go to the point!” She just coloured to have amused him so, but he quickly went on: “I think one has a little natural nervousness at being carried off one’s feet. I’m afraid I’ve always liked too much to see where I’m going.” “And you don’t with him?” She spoke with her curious hard interest. “I understand. But I think I like to be dazzled.” “Oh you’ve got time--you can come round again; you’ve a margin for accidents, for disappointments and recoveries: you can take one thing with another. But I’ve only my last little scrap.” “And you want to make no mistakes--I see.” “Well, I’m too easily upset.”