“Don’t imagine any such thing,” asserted her husband. “I know his ‘seventy times seven’ theory, but he is careful to insist that this is only for the man who turns and repents. He would be terribly disappointed, I imagine, if Sleeman should ever show any signs of repentance. Of course, he doesn’t expect this. Oh, he’s a relentless little devil in his hatred and his theories of judgment. And with a fighting strain in him, too.” “What do you mean?” asked his wife. “Fighting?” “Why, you remember last autumn when he came to me with the calm request that I teach him to fight. He had evidently had some trouble with Asa. When I asked him why he wanted to learn to fight, his answer was characteristic enough, ‘I don’t want to fight exactly,’ he said, ‘but I don’t want to feel afraid to fight.’ Rather a fine distinction, I think. And every week since that time the little beggar insists upon his ‘fighting’ lesson.” “Well,” said his wife with a slight smile, “he couldn’t have come to a better master of the art, I fancy, if college rumours mean anything. Wasn’t it light-weight championship you held for a year at Oxford?” “Three years, my dear,” modestly corrected the Colonel. “There is one thing I do like in the boy,” continued Mrs. Pelham, “and that is his devotion to old Jinny. Of course, Jinny worships the ground he walks on. She has all that fine old Scotch spirit of devotion and loyalty to the family that this age and this country know nothing about. She is an old dear, and immensely helpful about the house. But I do like Paul’s way with her. I always say that there is no truer sign of breeding than the way people treat their servants, and Paul certainly has that fine touch.” In a pause of the conversation weird sounds were heard coming from the music room. The musical acrobatics had ceased. Both sat listening for some moments. “Now what is he on?” the Colonel inquired. “I don’t know that thing.”