"You dear old boy!" She gave him her hand. "You always try to spoil a simple shepherdess." "But, I say, Molly, is this kind of marble hall good for study? Does it bring you nearer to Mrs. Siddons? Does it suit the cothernus? Methinks the liquefaction of black velvet more befits the tragic muse than the frou-frou of the flowered silk." "Very well put, Dick. I will remember." "Tell me something about them, Molly. If I am to entertain them, you know----" "Mr. John Haveril--whom I call John, for short--is slow of speech. Don't take that, however, for dulness. Everybody says he's as sharp as a razor. And he speaks slowly, and he's got a way while he talks of gazing far away." "And madam? She looks like a saint in sadness because she's got to wear cloth of gold instead of sackcloth." "She is in delicate health. Her husband is always anxious about her. Dick, he has many millions, and you always used to say that a man can't get rich honestly; but he does seem honest, and he's awfully fond of his wife." "A man may be fond of his wife and yet not austerely honest. Go on, Molly, before they come in." "Well, Dick," Molly lowered her voice, "she has something on her mind. I don't know what--she hasn't told me yet. But she will. It's some trouble. Sometimes the tears come into her eyes for nothing; sometimes she has fits of abstraction, when she hears nothing that you say; sometimes she becomes agitated, and her heart begins to flutter. I don't know what the trouble is, but it robs her life of happiness. She wants something. She goes to church and prays for it. If she were not such a good woman, I should think she had done something." "What shall I play for her?" "Play something that will rouse her. Play one of your descriptive things, Dick. I will play an accompaniment for you. Make the fiddle talk to her, as you know how. Nobody plays the fiddle quite so well as you, Dick." They dined in the public room, where Molly observed, with profit, making mental notes, the dresses of the ladies. Dick, on his part, as an observer of manners, listened to the conversation and wasted his time. Most conversation in public places is naught; very few people can say anything worth hearing, either in public or in private; most people cannot forget that they are in a public place and may be overheard--but the modesty is passing away. The world follows the example of the young man who was admonished by Swift not to set up for a wit, "because," he said, "there are ten thousand chances to one against you." The young man took that advice, and is, therefore, unknown to history.