He was equally bored with the young girls who gazed at him in adoration, and the women who petted him, and it was a considerable source of worry to him that he might appear effeminate, because of his blue eyes and golden hair, and fresh, clear complexion, when in reality he was as manly as the plainest of hard-sinewed warriors, though the indulgence of a slightly aesthetic manner and way of speech, learnt at the University, increased rather than counteracted the suggestion of effeminacy. But, taking all things into consideration, he was singularly unspoilt and unassuming; and sometimes blended with an old-fashioned, paternal air a boyishness and power of enjoyment that could not fail to charm. The first time that Lorraine met the trio was when Hal took her to spend the evening at the flat one Sunday, by arrangement with her cousin. She herself knew all three well, having been to the flat many times, but it had taken some little persuasion to get Lorraine to go with her. “Of course they are just boys,” said grandiloquent twenty-five, “but they are quite amusing, and they will be proud of it all their lives if they can say they once had Lorraine Vivian at the flat as a guest.” “What do you call boys?” asked Lorraine, looking amused; “I thought you said they had all left college,” “So they have, but that’s nothing. Dick is only twenty-five, and the others are about twenty-four.” “A much more irritating age than mere boyhood as a rule.” “Decidedly; but they really are a little exceptional. Dick, of course, is quite mad—that’s what makes him interesting. Alymer Hermon is a giant with a great cricket reputation, and Harold St. Quintin is a sort of modern Francis Assisi with a sense of humour.” “The giant sounds the dullest. I hope he doesn’t want to talk cricket all the time, because I don’t know anything about it, except that if a man stands before the wicket he is out, and if he stands behind it he is not in.” “Oh no; he doesn’t talk cricket. He mostly talks drivel with Dick, and St. Quintin laughs.” “Dick sounds quite the best, in spite of his madness. A cricketer who talks drivel, and a future clergyman working in the East End, don’t suggest anything that appeals to me in the least.” Nevertheless, when Lorraine, looking very lovely, entered the small sitting-room of her three hosts, her second glance, in spite of herself, strayed back to the young giant on the hearth-rug. He was looking at Hal sideways, with a quizzical air; and she heard him say: “It may be new, but it’s not the very latest fashion, because it doesn’t stick out far enough at the back, and it doesn’t cover up enough of your face.” “Oh well!” said Hal jauntily, “if I had as much time as you to study the fashions, I daresay I should know as much about them. But I have to _work_ for my living,” with satirical emphasis. “What a nuisance for you,” with a delightful smile. “I only pretend to work for mine.”