It was not a particularly interesting object. It was merely the figure of an unprepossessing boy, whose provincial homeliness was rendered doubly impressive by his frightful embarrassment. He had arrived a few moments before, with two more finished youths, whose mother Bertha knew, and, having been basely deserted by them at the outset, had stranded upon the treacherous shores of inexperience as soon as he had shaken hands. Mrs. Sylvestre's beautiful eyes dwelt upon him a moment with sympathy and interest. "Will you excuse me," she said to Arbuthnot, "if I go and talk to that boy? Bertha is too busy to attend to him, and he seems to know no one." Arbuthnot gave the boy a glance. He would not have regretted any comparatively harmless incident which would have removed him, but his own very naturally ignoble desire not to appear to a disadvantage restrained the impulse prompting a derisive remark. And while he objected to the boy in his most pronounced manner, he did not object in the least to what he was clever enough to see in his companion's words and the ready sympathy they expressed. Indeed, there was a side of him which derived definite pleasure from it. "I will excuse you," he answered; "but I need you more than the boy does, and I cannot help believing that I am more worthy of you; though, of course, I only use the word in its relative sense. As I remarked before, I am unworthy, but as compared to the boy--He is a frightful boy," he added, seeming to take him in more fully; "but I dare say his crimes are unpremeditated. Let me go with you and find out if I know his mother. I frequently know their mothers." "If you do know his mother, I am sure it will be a great relief to him, and it will assist me," said Mrs. Sylvestre. They crossed the room together, and, seeing them approach, the boy blushed vermilion and moved uneasily from one foot to the other. Gradually, however, his aspect changed a little. Here were rather attractive worldlings whose bearing expressed no consciousness whatever of his crime of boyhood. He met Mrs. Sylvestre's eyes and blushed less; he glanced furtively at Arbuthnot, and suddenly forgot his hands and became almost unconscious of his legs. "I have been asking Mrs. Sylvestre," said Arbuthnot, with civil mendacity, "if you did not come with the Bartletts. I thought I saw you come in together." "Yes," responded the boy. "I am a cousin of theirs." "Then I have heard them speak of you," Arbuthnot returned. "And I think I had the pleasure of meeting your sister several times last winter,--Miss Hemmingway?" "Yes," said the boy; "she was here on a visit."