“It is my wife who has been talking to me,” Da Souza continued. “You see, Julie is so young--our dear daughter she is but a child; and, as my wife says, we cannot be too particular, too careful, eh; you understand!” “You want them to go? Is that it?” Da Souza spread out his hands--an old trick, only now the palms were white and the diamonds real. “For myself,” he declared, “I find them charming. It is my wife who says to me, 'Hiram, those young persons, they are not fit company for our dear, innocent Julie! You shall speak to Mr. Trent. He will understand!' Eh?” Trent had finished his toilet and stood, the hairbrushes still in his hands, looking at Da Souza's anxious face with a queer smile upon his lips. “Yes, I understand, Da Souza,” he said. “No doubt you are right, you cannot be too careful. You do well to be particular.” Da Souza winced. He was about to speak, but Trent interrupted him. “Well, I'll tell you this, and you can let the missis know, my fond father. They leave to-morrow. Is that good enough?” Da Souza caught at his host's hand, but Trent snatched it away. “My dear--my noble--” “Here, shut up and don't paw me,” Trent interrupted. “Mind, not a word of this to any one but your wife; the girls don't know they're going themselves yet.” They entered the dining-room, where every one else was already assembled. Mrs. Da Souza, a Jewess portly and typical, resplendent in black satin and many gold chains and bangles, occupied the seat of honour, and by her side was a little brown girl, with dark, timid eyes and dusky complexion, pitiably over-dressed but with a certain elf-like beauty, which it was hard to believe that she could ever have inherited. Miss Montressor and her friend sat on either side of their host--an arrangement which Mrs. Da Souza lamented, but found herself powerless to prevent, and her husband took the vacant place. Dinner was served, and with the opening of the champagne, which was not long delayed, tongues were loosened. “It was very hot in the City to-day,” Mrs. Da Souza remarked to her host. “Dear Julie was saying what a shame it seemed that you should be there and we should be enjoying your beautiful gardens. She is so thoughtful, so sympathetic! Dear girl!” “Very kind of your daughter,” Trent answered, looking directly at her and rather inclined to pity her obvious shyness. “Come, drink up, Da Souza, drink up, girls! I've had a hard day and I want to forget for a bit that there's any such thing as work.” Miss Montressor raised her glass and winked at her host. “It don't take much drinking, this, General,” she remarked, cheerily draining her glass! “Different to the 'pop' they give us down at the 'Star,' eh, Flossie? Good old gooseberry I call that!” “Da Souza, look after Miss Flossie,” Trent said. “Why don't you fill her glass? That's right!” “Hiram!”