"I shall help you. Elfrida will bear me out: I have always been interested in the lower classes, and I shall love to go with you and draw it when the time comes." "Oh, I couldn't let you do that." "Why not? I admit I've had no experience, but, after all, in a work of this kind, it is the spirit that counts, isn't it?" Elfrida had engaged Tom and Henry at a point as far distant as she could from her brother and Nancy, and she now asked Tom what he thought of Somebody's latest novel and made him lose track of their conversation. "Are you _really_ a realist?" asked Miss Balch. "No, I don't think I am." "Fancy," replied Miss Balch. "Then I think you would like a thing I got out of the library the other day by one of these new Russians. He has some dreadful name. Well, it is about this man, a peasant, who falls in love with this Bolshevist agent, and she uses the man, you see, as a tool. Then there is this other woman in it who----" Leofwin had adopted a very free-and-easy manner, it seemed to Tom. He was sitting with his legs crossed, hands folded, one arm over the back of his chair, half facing Nancy. He was being extremely bland and at his ease. It was the sort of thing one might do in a Russian drawing-room, perhaps, where the ladies doubtless didn't mind being bitten in a fit of passion, but it was decidedly not the way to behave in Woodbridge--although it must be confessed that an impartial observer might have failed to distinguish any marked difference in the way Tom himself was sitting, since he, too, had crossed his legs, folded his hands, and was half facing Nancy. It was clear that Nancy was painfully trying to do the honours. "You must let me see your pictures," Tom heard her say. "... Really, Mr. Reynolds, I think you might listen to me when I'm trying so hard to entertain you." "Why, I heard everything you said. All about this new Russian." "Sly boots!" said Miss Balch archly. Tom wondered what the proper reply was. What he wanted to say, in the same arch manner was "Puss Wuss!" but instead he just grinned brightly and let it be inferred that he was thinking of all sorts of clever things. "A penny for your thoughts, sir," cried Miss Balch. This was unbearable, especially since Henry was apparently enjoying it so much. "I hope you won't think me rude, but I was thinking of the great pile of uncorrected test papers at home on my desk, and I am afraid you will have to excuse me." He rose. The whole room rose. He started for the door, and Nancy hurried over to him. "Isn't it dreadful?" she seemed to say. Behind her, like Tartarin's camel, loomed Leofwin. "We'll meet here at twelve," Nancy said, and with an effort she managed to include the cavalier and irrepressible artist, who, beaming and bowing, showed in every corner of him his thorough approval of the whole arrangement. IX