She had known Freewintle, the mighty hunter with whom he had been associated, and gave satirical sketches of his family history. She was an authority on genealogies, a subject which, by one of the intellectual freaks not uncommon in men of Gerard’s type, interested him greatly. It is a curious fact, but a true one, that all genealogists are related to one another. Mrs. Delamere conclusively proved her connection with the Norfolk Merriams through the Freemantles. They were all East Anglians. “You have done me good, Mr. Merriam,” she remarked. “I had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as a county family in existence. Look at these people here--I suppose they belong to somebody--but to whom?” “If they had mothers, it’s about all,” replied Gerard, laughing. Mrs. Delamere had put him into a good humour. Soon afterwards he took his leave. “Shall I see you to-morrow?” he asked Minna, while bidding her good-bye. “Perhaps--I don’t know. If I go over to Monte Carlo you may meet me there. There are too many burdens in life to add to them voluntarily by making arrangements for the morrow.” “You are looking tired,” he said. “A course of late hours and stuffy rooms becomes unhealthy if it’s overdone. Let me take you for a drive to-morrow.” “With Mrs. Delamere?” “No. You alone. I can get a decent turn-out in Nice, I suppose. I’ll call for you at two o’clock.” “Where are you staying?” “At the Grande Bretagne.” “I’ll send you word in the morning. It depends how I feel.” “I shall be wretchedly disappointed if you don’t come.” “Will you?” she said with her lazy intonation. “_Nous verrons_.” Later, when the guests had gone, Mrs. Delamere began to sound Gerard’s praises. He was a thorough Englishman, intelligent, masculine. Not like the effeminate creatures who had never seen a gun go off in their lives or ridden anything more spirited than a Turbie donkey. He was like a colossus amid these little men, she said, with a vague reminiscence of Shakespeare. It was then that Minna snapped out her bear and monkey comparison. She was thoroughly weary, lay back exhausted and spiritless in a chair, and regarded Gerard’s apologist with an air of tired resignation. The room was hot and stale with the breaths of many people, and the refuse of many perfumes. “Bear or not,” replied Mrs. Delamere, drawing some crumpled and greasy bank notes from the pocket of her black silk dress, and delicately folding them, “I like to meet an honest, healthy English gentleman again. And I pity the man. I always pity men whose wives go wrong.” “Pearls before swine,” said Minna, listlessly. “Oh, I am not so hard as that upon the women.” “You mistake my meaning,” said Minna. “He is the hog.” Mrs. Delamere looked up surprised. “I thought you disliked her so. And you certainly have been encouraging him.” Minna drew her body together in a kind of shudder, and threw out her hand in a gesture of repulsion. “He gives me the creeps!” she said.