They were not safe eyes to lift in such a way to those of a very young man. They gave George a sudden enjoyable shock. He had heard of the girl who was a sort of sublimated companion to his grandmother. The Duchess herself had talked to him a little about her and he had come to the party intending to behave very amiably and help the little thing enjoy herself. He had also encountered before in houses where there were no daughters the smart well-born, young companion who was allowed all sorts of privileges because she knew how to assume tiresome little responsibilities and how to be entertaining enough to add cheer and spice to the life of the elderly and lonely. Sometimes she was a subtly appealing sort of girl and given to being sympathetic and to liking sympathy and quiet corners in conservatories or libraries, and sometimes she was capable of scientific flirtation and required scientific management. A man had to have his wits about him. This one as she flew like a blown leaf across the floor and laughed up into his face with wide eyes, produced a new effect and was a new kind. “It’s you who are heavenly,” he answered with a boy’s laugh. “You are like a feather—and a willow wand.” “You are light too,” she laughed back, “and you are like steel as well.” Mrs. Alan Stacy, the lady with the magnificent henna hair, had recently given less time to him, being engaged in the preliminary instruction of a new member of the Infant Class. Such things will, of course, happen and though George had quite ingenuously raged in secret, the circumstances left him free to “hover” and hovering was a pastime he enjoyed. “Let us go on like this forever and ever,” he said sweeping half the length of the room with her and whirling her as if she were indeed a leaf in the wind, “Forever and ever.” “I wish we could. But the music will stop,” she gave back. “Music ought never to stop—never,” he answered.