"A man called on me at the works this morning," William observed, addressing his father, who latterly stayed much at home and left the control and worry of business largely to his son. "He had a letter of introduction from Morgan. I asked him to call at the house this afternoon in time for tea. His name's Steele." "You should have asked him to dine," Mr Graynor said. "Time enough for that after you have seen him," William returned, and for some reason, which he would have been at a loss to explain, his gaze travelled in Prudence's direction and rested for the space of a second on her listening, eager face. "I've seen him," Prudence said. "He's quite young." William raised his eyebrows; Miss Agatha's head came round with a jerk; several other heads jerked round likewise, and every one looked at Prudence. "I saw him from my window," Prudence explained, unabashed by the general interest, "striding down the hill. His back looked nice." William sought to ignore the interruption and the interrupter, and addressed himself exclusively to his father. But it was useless. Prudence, having broken her silence, refused to be excluded from the conversation, and expressed the flippant desire to see the face belonging to the nice-looking back. Had it been possible to banish her young sister to her bedroom, Agatha would have done so; but Prudence lately had shown a growing tendency to break away from control, and she was wise enough not to put a further strain on the weakening strands of her already frayed authority. Therefore Prudence was in the drawing-room when the stranger called-- indeed, she was the only person present so far as he was concerned. He paid her far more attention than Miss Agatha deemed necessary or in good taste. The manners of youth, as each generation which has left youth behind unfailingly recognises, are sadly deteriorating. As for Prudence, she admired the front view as greatly as she had admired the back. Mr Philip Steele was eminently well-favoured. Prudence considered him handsome. She had met so few men that anyone who escaped middle-age and stoutness appeared to her in the guise of masculine perfection, provided only that his face was strong. Steele's face matched with his name, sharp, clear-cut, firm of jaw. And he was clean-shaven. William wore a beard. Hair on a man's face was patriarchal. Tea was brought in by the butler and deposited on a table in front of Miss Agatha; and the young man, seizing the opportunity when his hostess' attention was thus engaged, demanded of Prudence in a confidential undertone: "I say, wasn't it you I saw leaning from a window two nights ago?" "Yes." Prudence looked at him with a frank laugh in her blue eyes. "I saw you pass. It must have been gorgeous, walking down there in the moonlight."