"I don't know. Perhaps something at the works. It's a great comfort for him having Mr. Bateman. Such an earnest young man--and so conscientious." "Marvellously conscientious," agreed Jimmy. "Oswald thinks a lot of Mr. Bateman's judgment. He says that Mr. Bateman is always right." "That was one of his worst characteristics years ago," said Jimmy feelingly. Lady Coote looked slightly puzzled. "That was an awfully jolly week-end I had with you at Chimneys," said Jimmy. "I mean it would have been awfully jolly if it hadn't been for poor old Gerry kicking the bucket. Jolly nice girls." "I find girls very perplexing," said Lady Coote. "Not romantic, you know. Why, I embroidered some handkerchiefs for Sir Oswald with my own hair when we were engaged." "Did you?" said Jimmy. "How marvellous. But I suppose girls haven't got long enough hair to do that nowadays." "That's true," admitted Lady Coote. "But, oh, it shows in lots of other ways. I remember when I was a girl, one of my--well, my young men--picked up a handful of gravel, and a girl who was with me said at once that he was treasuring it because my feet had trodden on it. Such a pretty idea, I thought. Though it turned out afterwards that he was taking a course of mineralogy--or do I mean geology?--at a technical school. But I liked the idea--and stealing a girl's handkerchief and treasuring it--all those sort of things." "Awkward if the girl wanted to blow her nose," said the practical Mr. Thesiger. Lady Coote laid down her wool-work and looked searchingly but kindly at him. "Come now," she said, "isn't there some nice girl that you fancy? That you'd like to work and make a little home for?" Jimmy blushed and mumbled. "I thought you got on very well with one of those girls at Chimneys that time--Vera Daventry." "Socks?" "They do call her that," admitted Lady Coote. "I can't think why. It isn't pretty." "Oh, she's a topper," said Jimmy. "I'd like to meet her again." "She's coming down to stay with us next week-end." "Is she?" said Jimmy, trying to infuse a large amount of wistful longing into the two words. "Yes. Would--would you like to come?"' "I _would_," said Jimmy heartily. "Thanks ever so much, Lady Coote." And reiterating fervent thanks, he left her. Sir Oswald presently joined his wife. "What has that young jackanapes been boring you about?" he demanded. "I can't stand that young fellow." "He's a dear boy," said Lady Coote. "And so brave. Look how he got wounded last night." "Yes, messing around where he'd no business to be." "I think you're very unfair, Oswald." "Never done an honest day's work in his life. A real waster if there ever was one. He'd never get on if he had his way to make in the world."