Halcyone conversed with Mr. Miller, who always felt he must make nursery jokes with her and ask her the names of her dolls.

“He can’t help it,” she told Cheiron one day.  “If he had any more intelligence God would have put him to work in some busier place.”

John Derringham did not address her; he devoted himself to Miss La Sarthe.

He had absolutely no diffidence.  He had been spoilt from his cradle, and by the time he had left Eton—­Captain of the Oppidans—­had ruled all those near him with a rod of iron, imposing his interesting enthusiastic personality upon all companies with unqualified success.  Miss La Sarthe fell at once.  He said exactly the right things to her and flattered her by his unfeigned interest in all she spoke of.  He was studying her as he studied any rare memento of historical value.

“My great-niece reads every morning with Mr. Carlyon,” she said presently.  “Girls are expected to be so very clever nowadays, we are told.  She already knows a little Greek.  It would have been considered quite unnecessary in our day.”

“And I am sure it is in this,” said John Derringham.  “Learned women are an awful bore.  As a sex they were meant to be feminine, dainty, exquisite creatures as those I see to-night,” and he bowed gallantly while Miss La Sarthe thrilled.  She thoroughly approved of his appearance.

“So very much of a gentleman, Roberta,” she afterwards said.  “None of that thick, ill-cut look we are obliged to observe in so many of the younger people we see when we go into Upminster each year.”

“And why should he look thick or ill-cut, Sister?” Miss Roberta replied.  “Mr. Carlyon told me the Derringhams have been seated at Derringham since fabulous times.”

Thus this last of that race was appreciated fully in at least two antiquated female hearts.

But meanwhile the cloth was being removed, and the port wine and old Madeira placed before the elder hostess.

“Our father’s cellar was famous for its port,” she said, “and we have a few bottles of the ’47 left.”

But now she felt it was only manners to turn to Mr. Carlyon upon her other hand, so John Derringham was left in silence, no obligation to talk to Halcyone making itself felt.  She turned and looked at him, he interested her very much.  Mr. Carlyon had quantities of books of photographs of all the famous statues in Europe and especially in Italy and Greece, but she could not find any likeness to him in any of her recollection of them.  Alas! his face was not at all Greek.  His nose was high and aquiline, his forehead high and broad, and there was something noble and dominating in his fearless regard.  His hair even did not grow very prettily, though it was thick and dark—­and there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon his whole person.  He never for a moment suggested repose, he gave the impression of vivid, nervous force and action, a young knight going out to fight any impossible dragon with his good sword and shield—­unabashed by the smoke from its flaming nostrils, undaunted by any fear of death.