He took an opportunity, when the young man's back was turned, of examining his counterfoils. There was no record, naturally, of a cheque drawn in Ferrand's favour. Shelton felt more mean than ever. A message came from Mrs. Dennant; so he took the traveller to the dining-room and left him there, while he himself went to the lady of the house. He met Antonia coming down. “How many days did you say he went without food that time--you know?” she asked in passing. “Four.” “He does n't look a bit common, Dick.” Shelton gazed at her dubiously. “They're surely not going to make a show of him!” he thought. Mrs. Dennant was writing, in a dark-blue dress starred over with white spots, whose fine lawn collar was threaded with black velvet. “Have you seen the new hybrid Algy's brought me back from Kidstone? Is n't it charmin'.” and she bent her face towards this perfect rose. “They say unique; I'm awfully interested to find out if that's true. I've told Algy I really must have some.” Shelton thought of the unique hybrid breakfasting downstairs; he wished that Mrs. Dennant would show in him the interest she had manifested in the rose. But this was absurd of him, he knew, for the potent law of hobbies controlled the upper classes, forcing them to take more interest in birds, and roses, missionaries, or limited and highly-bound editions of old books (things, in a word, in treating which you knew exactly where you were) than in the manifestations of mere life that came before their eyes. “Oh, Dick, about that young Frenchman. Antonia says he wants a tutorship; now, can you really recommend him? There's Mrs. Robinson at the Gateways wants someone to teach her boys languages; and, if he were quite satisfactory, it's really time Toddles had a few lessons in French; he goes to Eton next half.” Shelton stared at the rose; he had suddenly realised why it was that people take more interest in roses than in human beings--one could do it with a quiet heart. “He's not a Frenchman, you know,” he said to gain a little time. “He's not a German, I hope,” Mrs. Dennant answered, passing her forgers round a petal, to impress its fashion on her brain; “I don't like Germans. Is n't he the one you wrote about--come down in the world? Such a pity with so young a fellow! His father was a merchant, I think you told us. Antonia says he 's quite refined to look at.” “Oh, yes,” said Shelton, feeling on safe ground; “he's refined enough to look at.” Mrs. Dennant took the rose and put it to her nose. “Delicious perfume! That was a very touchin' story about his goin' without food in Paris. Old Mrs. Hopkins has a room to let; I should like to do her a good turn. I'm afraid there's a hole in the ceilin', though. Or there's the room here in the left wing on the ground-floor where John the footman used to sleep. It's quite nice; perhaps he could have that.” “You 're awfully kind,” said Shelton, “but--”