Darrell came over to them as they were going, and shook hands, first with Gertrude, and then with Phyllis. "Thank you," he said to the latter, "for a very pleasant afternoon." Both he and Lord Watergate lingered in York Place till the other guests had departed, when they fell upon Frank for further information respecting the photographic studio. "It doesn't look as if it paid them," remarked Darrell, by way of administering a damper to loyal Frank's enthusiasm. "I wonder," said Lord Watergate, "if they would think it worth while to prepare some slides for me?" "For the Royal Institution lectures?" Darrell sat down to the piano as he spoke, and ran his hands over the keys. "She is a charming creature--Phyllis." "Charming!" cried Frank; "and so is Miss Lucy. And Gertrude is charming, too; she is the clever one." "Oh, yes, Gertrude is the clever one; you can see that by her boots." Meanwhile the Lorimers and the Devonshires were walking up Baker Street together, engaged, on their part also, in discussing the people from whom they had just parted. "You are quite wrong, Gerty, about Mr. Darrell," cried Phyllis; "he is very nice, and great fun." "What, the fellow with the goatee?" said Fred. "Oh, Fred, his beautiful Vandyke beard!" "I don't care, I don't like him." "Nor do I, Fred," said Gertrude, with decision, as the whole party turned into Number 20B, and went up to the sitting-room. "I think really you are a little unreasonable," said Lucy, putting her arm round her sister's waist; "he seemed quite a nice person." "He looks," put in Conny, speaking for the first time, "as though he meant to have the best of everything. But so do a great many of us mean that." "But not," cried Gertrude, "by trampling over the bodies of other people. Ah, you are all laughing at me. But can one be expected to think well of a person who makes one feel like a strong-minded clown?" They laughed more than ever at the curious image summoned up by her words; then Phyllis remarked, critically-- "There is one thing I don't like about him, and that is his eye. I particularly detest that sort of eye; prominent, with heavy lids, and those little puffy bags underneath." "Phyllis, spare us these realistic descriptions," protested Lucy, "and let us dismiss Mr. Darrell, for the present at least. Perhaps our revered chaperon will tell us something of her experiences with a certain noble lord," she added, placing in her dress, with a smile of thanks, the gardenia of which Fred had divested himself in her favour. "It was very nice of him," said Gertrude, gravely, "to get Mr. Oakley to introduce him to me, if only to show me that the sight of me did not make him sick." "I like his face," added Lucy; "there is something almost boyish about it. Do you remember what Daudet says of the old doctor in _Jack_, 'La science l'avait garde naif.'"