“Cream in the Temple?” said the lady. “What sort of a compound would it be, Dolly? All plaster of Paris, or stuff of that sort. Perhaps you have tea sometimes in these parts----” “Very seldom,” said John; “but it might be obtainable if you would like it.” He put forward his hand, but not with much alacrity, to the bell. “Mother never takes any tea,” said Miss Dolly, hastily; “she only crumbles down cake into it for that little brute.” “It is you who are a little brute, you unnatural child. Toto likes his tea very much--he is dying for it. But you must have patience, my pet, for probably it would be very bad, and the cream all stucco, or something. Mr. Tatham, do tell us what has become of Nell? Now, have you hidden her somewhere in London, St. John’s Wood, and that sort of thing, don’t you know? or where is she? Is the old woman living? and how has that boy been brought up? At a dame’s school, or something of that sort, I suppose.” “Mother,” said Dolly, “you ought to know there are now no dame’s schools. There’s Board Schools, which is what you mean, I suppose; and it would be very good for him if he had been there. They would teach him a great deal more than was ever taught to Uncle Phil.” “Teach him!” said Lady Mariamne, with another shriek. “Did I ask anything about teaching? Heaven forbid! Mr. Tatham knows what I mean, Dolly. Has he been at any decent place--or has he been where it will never be heard of? Eton and Harrow one knows, and the dame’s schools one knows, but horrible Board Schools, or things, where they might say young Lord Lomond was brought up--oh, goodness gracious! One has to bear a great many things, but I could not bear that.” “It does not matter much, does it, so long as he does not come within the range of his nearest relations?” This was from John, who was almost at the end of his patience. He began to put his papers back in a portfolio, with the intention of carrying them home with him, for his hour’s work had been spoilt as well as his temper. “I am afraid,” he added, “that I cannot give you any information, Lady Mariamne.” “Oh, such nonsense, Mr. Tatham!--as if the heir to a peerage could be hid.” It was not often that Lady Mariamne produced an unanswerable effect, but against this last sentence of hers John had absolutely nothing to say. He stared at her for a moment, and then he returned to his papers, shovelling them into the portfolio with vehemence. Fortunately, she did not herself see how potent was her argument. She went on diluting it till it lost all its power.