ay better than I in mine.'"

"I remember. And you think he referred to tact?"

Jenny took so long to answer that there was no time to answer at all; we
were at the door, and young Lacey was waiting.

The house was beautiful and stately; I think that Jenny was surprised to
find that it was also in decent repair. There was nothing ragged,
nothing poverty-stricken; a grave and moderate handsomeness marked all
the equipment. The fall in fortune was rather to be inferred from what
was absent than rudely shown in the present condition of affairs. Thus
the dining-room was called the Vandyke Room--but there were no Vandykes;
a charming little boudoir was called the Madonna Parlor--but the Madonna
had taken flight, probably a long flight across the Atlantic. In giving
us the names Lord Fillingford made no reference to their being no longer
applicable--he seemed to use them in mechanical habit, forgetful of
their significance--and Jenny, mindful perhaps of the spirit of my
warning, refrained from questions. But for what was to be seen she had a
generous and genuine enthusiasm; the sedate beauty and serenely grand
air of the old place went to her heart.

But one picture did hang in the Madonna Parlor--a half-length of a
beautiful high-bred girl with large dark eyes and a figure slight almost
to emaciation. Lacey and I, who were behind, entered the room just as
the other two came to a stand before it. I saw Jenny's face turn toward
Fillingford in inquiry.

"My wife," he said. "She died thirteen years ago--when Amyas was only
five." His voice was dry, but he looked steadily at the picture with a
noticeable intentness of gaze.

"This was mother's own room, Miss Driver," Lacey interposed.

"Yes. How--how it must have suited her!" said Jenny in a low voice.

Fillingford turned his head sharply round and looked at her; with a
slight smile he nodded his head. "She was very fond of this room. She
had it furnished in blue--instead of yellow." Then he moved quickly to
the door. "There's nothing else you'd care to see here, I think."

After lunch Lacey carried Jenny off to the garden--his father seemed to
think that he had done enough as host and to acquiesce readily in the
devolution of his duties--and I sat awhile with Fillingford, smoking
cigarettes--well, he only smoked one. It seemed to me that the man was
like his house; just as the state of its fortune was not rudely declared
in anything unbecoming or shabby, but had to be ga