“And London....” “And pictures, and carpets, and flowers....” “And think of meeting a lady again!” said Fane-Herbert. They laughed at him for that. “Aren’t there ladies at Gib.?” “Yes; but they know the difference between a Lieutenant and a Wart. I mean a--a _civilian_ lady.... By the way, Lynwood, you must come round and see my mother and sister. Why not stay with us in Town the first night of leave, and go down to your own home the next day?” John nodded. “Thanks, I should like to.... Think of a day with no routine!” And they laughed again. V On that first night of leave for which they had been laying innumerable and contradictory plans, Fane-Herbert came into John’s room while he was dressing. He sat down on the bed. “Do you know we are to have a great man to dinner to-night?” “I thought you insisted that there should be no dinner-party?” “So I did. This isn’t a party. He’s the only guest. My mother knows him very well, and, strangely enough, he appears to be an old friend of your mother’s. He heard you were going to be here to-night, and invited himself.” “Who is he?” “A novelist, a poet, a writer of biography; a very important person indeed. Can you guess? He has the Order of Merit, the only literary one except Thomas Hardy’s.” “Wingfield Alter, of course. That’s rather terrifying. What is he like?” “I haven’t met him for a long time. He used to give me shillings when I was a small boy, and tell me stories. But that was ten years ago; he may have changed since then. Margaret likes him, though, so I expect he is all right.” Fane-Herbert went to the door. “Shall I tell him you write poetry?” he asked laughingly as he went out. “No; for the Lord’s sake don’t be a fool!” On his way downstairs John met Margaret. “Have you heard of our guest?” she asked. “Alter? Yes. Is it an ordeal?” “Oh no. He is really a delightful person--tremendously interested in everything. The only people he can’t endure are old ladies with salons who pat the lion. Mr. Alter won’t be patted.” “Of course he is pleasant to you,” said John. “But, if he knows anything of the Navy, he won’t have much use for junior midshipmen.” “Why not?” John did not wish to explain. “Oh,” he said vaguely, “junior midshipmen are rather looked down on in the Service.” “Only by senior midshipmen or their equivalent,” she answered. “You will find that Mr. Alter doesn’t take much notice of rank--rank of any kind, I mean, except that of ability.” At the foot of the stairs John’s attention was arrested by a portrait in oils that hung there. “Who is that?” he asked. “My great-grandmother--on my mother’s side.” “She is extraordinarily like you. Is there a portrait of her when she was your age?” “No, I’m afraid not. That was done some time after her marriage. She was about twenty-six, I believe.”