“I should like to do something to restore his self-respect,”, went on Mrs. Dennant, “if, as you say, he 's clever and all that. Seein' a little refined life again might make a world of difference to him. It's so sad when a young man loses self-respect.” Shelton was much struck by the practical way in which she looked at things. Restore his self-respect! It seemed quite a splendid notion! He smiled, and said, “You're too kind. I think--” “I don't believe in doin' things by halves,” said Mrs. Dennant; “he does n't drink, I suppose?” “Oh, no,” said Shelton. “He's rather a tobacco maniac, of course.” “Well, that's a mercy! You would n't believe the trouble I 've had with drink, especially over cooks and coachmen. And now Bunyan's taken to it.” “Oh, you'd have no trouble with Ferrand,” returned Shelton; “you couldn't tell him from a gentleman as far as manners go.” Mrs. Dennant smiled one of her rather sweet and kindly smiles. “My dear Dick,” she said, “there's not much comfort in that. Look at poor Bobby Surcingle, look at Oliver Semples and Victor Medallion; you could n't have better families. But if you 're sure he does n't drink! Algy 'll laugh, of course; that does n't matter--he laughs at everything.” Shelton felt guilty; being quite unprepared for so rapid an adoption of his client. “I really believe there's a lot of good in him,” he stammered; “but, of course, I know very little, and from what he tells me he's had a very curious life. I shouldn't like--” “Where was he educated?” inquired Mrs. Dennant. “They have no public schools in France, so I 've been told; but, of course, he can't help that, poor young fellow! Oh, and, Dick, there 's one thing--has he relations? One has always to be so careful about that. It 's one thing to help a young fellow, but quite another to help his family too. One sees so many cases of that where men marry girls without money, don't you know.” “He has told me,” answered Shelton, “his only relations are some cousins, and they are rich.” Mrs. Dennant took out her handkerchief, and, bending above the rose, removed a tiny insect. “These green-fly get in everywhere,” she said. “Very sad story; can't they do anything for him?” and she made researches in the rose's heart. “He's quarrelled with them, I believe,” said Shelton; “I have n't liked to press him, about that.” “No, of course not,” assented Mrs. Dennant absently--she had found another green-fly “I always think it's painful when a young man seems so friendless.” Shelton was silent; he was thinking deeply. He had never before felt so distrustful of the youthful foreigner. “I think,” he said at last, “the best thing would be for you to see him for yourself.” “Very well,” said Mrs. Dennant. “I should be so glad if you would tell him to come up. I must say I do think that was a most touchin' story about Paris. I wonder whether this light's strong enough now for me to photograph this rose.”