“Are they pretty?” she inquired, wanting to know if Eddy was at all in love with either of them. It might be amusing if he was. Eddy considered. “I don’t know that you’d call Jane pretty, exactly. Very nice to look at. Sweet-looking, and extraordinarily innocent.” “I don’t like sweet innocent girls,” said Daphne. “They’re so inept, as a rule.” “Well, Jane’s very ept. She’s tremendously clever at her own things, you know; in fact, clever all round, only clever’s not a bit the word as a matter of fact. She’s a genius, I suppose--a sort of inspired child, very simple about everything, and delightful to talk to. Not the least conventional.” “No; I didn’t suppose she’d be that. And what’s Mrs.--the other one like?” “Mrs. Le Moine. Oh, well--she’s--she’s very nice, too.” “Pretty?” “Rather beautiful, she is. Irish, and a little Hungarian, I believe. She plays marvellously.” “Yes, you said that.” Daphne’s thoughts on Mrs. Le Moine produced the question, “Is she married, or a widow?” “Married. She’s quite friends with her husband.” “Well, I suppose she would be. Ought to be, anyhow. Can we have her without him, by the way?” “Oh, they don’t live together. That’s why they’re friends. They weren’t till they parted. Everyone asks them about separately of course. She lives with a Miss Hogan, an awfully charming person. I’d love to ask her, too, but there wouldn’t be room. I wonder if mother’ll mind my asking those three?” “You’d better find out,” advised Daphne. “They won’t rub father the wrong way, I suppose, will they? He doesn’t like being surprised, remember. You’d better warn Mr. Denison not to talk against religion or anything.” “Oh, Denison will be all right. He knows it’s a Deanery.” “Will the others know it’s a Deanery, too?” Eddy, to say the truth, had a shade of doubt as to that. They were both so innocent. Arnold had learnt a little at Cambridge about the attitude of the superior clergy, and what not to say to them, though he knew more than he always practised. Jane had been at Somerville College, Oxford, but this particular branch of learning is not taught there. Eileen had never adorned any institution for the higher education. Her father was an Irish poet, and the editor of a Nationalist paper, and did not like any of the many Deans of his acquaintance. In Ireland, Deans and Nationalists do not always see eye to eye. Eddy hoped that Eileen had not any hereditary distaste for the profession. “Father and mother’ll think it funny, Mrs. Le Moine not living with her husband,” said Daphne, who had that insight into her parents’ minds which comes of twenty years co-residence. Eddy was afraid they would. “But it’s not funny, really, and they’ll soon see it’s quite all right. They’ll like her, I know. Everyone who knows her does.”