“Wisely so, your ladyship. They at least LOOK as if they were going to last. The full-blown roses do not.” Lady Cantourne gave a little sigh. This was the difference between them. She could not watch without an occasional thought for a time that was no more. The man seemed to be content that the past had been lived through and would never renew itself. “After all,” she said, “she is my sister's child. The sympathy may only be a matter of blood. Perhaps I was like that myself once. Was I? You can tell me.” She looked slowly round the room and his face hardened. He knew that she was reflecting that there was no one else who could tell her; and he did not like it. “No,” he answered readily. “And what was the difference?” She looked straight in front of her with a strange old-fashioned demureness. “Their name is legion, for they are many.” “Name a few. Was I as good-looking as that, for instance?” He smiled--a wise, old, woman-searching smile. “You were better-looking than that,” he said, with a glance beneath his lashless lids. “Moreover, there was more of the grand lady about you. You behaved better. There was less shaking hands with your partners, less nodding and becking, and none of that modern forwardness which is called, I believe, camaraderie.” “Thank you, Sir John,” she answered, looking at him frankly with a pleasant smile. “But it is probable that we had the faults of our age.” He fumbled at his lips, having reasons of his own for disliking too close a scrutiny of his face. “That is more than probable,” he answered, rather indistinctly. “Then,” she said, tapping the back of his gloved hand with her fan, “we ought to be merciful to the faults of a succeeding generation. Tell me who is that young man with the long stride who is getting himself introduced now.” “That,” answered Sir John, who prided himself upon knowing every one--knowing who they were and who they were not--“is young Oscard.” “Son of the eccentric Oscard?” “Son of the eccentric Oscard.” “And where did he get that brown face?” “He got that in Africa, where he has been shooting. He forms part of some one else's bag at the present moment.” “What do you mean?” “He has been apportioned a dance. Your fair niece has bagged him.”