“Oh, Dick, about that young Frenchman.  Antonia says he wants a tutorship; now, can you really recommend him?  There’s Mrs. Robinson at the Gateways wants someone to teach her boys languages; and, if he were quite satisfactory, it’s really time Toddles had a few lessons in French; he goes to Eton next half.”

Shelton stared at the rose; he had suddenly realised why it was that people take more interest in roses than in human beings—­one could do it with a quiet heart.

“He’s not a Frenchman, you know,” he said to gain a little time.

“He’s not a German, I hope,” Mrs. Dennant answered, passing her forgers round a petal, to impress its fashion on her brain; “I don’t like Germans.  Is n’t he the one you wrote about—­come down in the world?  Such a pity with so young a fellow!  His father was a merchant, I think you told us.  Antonia says he ’s quite refined to look at.”

“Oh, yes,” said Shelton, feeling on safe ground; “he’s refined enough to look at.”

Mrs. Dennant took the rose and put it to her nose.

“Delicious perfume!  That was a very touchin’ story about his goin’ without food in Paris.  Old Mrs. Hopkins has a room to let; I should like to do her a good turn.  I’m afraid there’s a hole in the ceilin’, though.  Or there’s the room here in the left wing on the ground-floor where John the footman used to sleep.  It’s quite nice; perhaps he could have that.”

“You ’re awfully kind,” said Shelton, “but—­”

“I should like to do something to restore his self-respect,”, went on Mrs. Dennant, “if, as you say, he ‘s clever and all that.  Seein’ a little refined life again might make a world of difference to him.  It’s so sad when a young man loses self-respect.”

Shelton was much struck by the practical way in which she looked at things.  Restore his self-respect!  It seemed quite a splendid notion!  He smiled, and said,

“You’re too kind.  I think—­”

“I don’t believe in doin’ things by halves,” said Mrs. Dennant; “he does n’t drink, I suppose?”

“Oh, no,” said Shelton.  “He’s rather a tobacco maniac, of course.”

“Well, that’s a mercy!  You would n’t believe the trouble I ’ve had with drink, especially over cooks and coachmen.  And now Bunyan’s taken to it.”

“Oh, you’d have no trouble with Ferrand,” returned Shelton; “you couldn’t tell him from a gentleman as far as manners go.”

Mrs. Dennant smiled one of her rather sweet and kindly smiles.

“My dear Dick,” she said, “there’s not much comfort in that.  Look at poor Bobby Surcingle, look at Oliver Semples and Victor Medallion; you could n’t have better families.  But if you ’re sure he does n’t drink!  Algy ’ll laugh, of course; that does n’t matter—­he laughs at everything.”

Shelton felt guilty; being quite unprepared for so rapid an adoption of his client.

“I really believe there’s a lot of good in him,” he stammered; “but, of course, I know very little, and from what he tells me he’s had a very curious life.  I shouldn’t like—­”