come!
Come here." But she remained standing where she was. "Do you know where
I met these desirable tenants? In the National Gallery, when I was up to
see my mother last week."

"What an odd place to meet people!" she said nervously. "I don't quite
understand."

"In the Umbrian Room. Absolute strangers. They were admiring Luca
Signorelli--of course, quite stupidly. However, we got talking, and they
refreshed me not--a little. They had been to Italy."

"But, Cecil--" proceeded hilariously.

"In the course of conversation they said that they wanted a country
cottage--the father to live there, the son to run down for week-ends.
I thought, 'What a chance of scoring off Sir Harry!' and I took
their address and a London reference, found they weren't actual
blackguards--it was great sport--and wrote to him, making out--"

"Cecil! No, it's not fair. I've probably met them before--"

He bore her down.

"Perfectly fair. Anything is fair that punishes a snob. That old man
will do the neighbourhood a world of good. Sir Harry is too disgusting
with his 'decayed gentlewomen.' I meant to read him a lesson some time.
No, Lucy, the classes ought to mix, and before long you'll agree with
me. There ought to be intermarriage--all sorts of things. I believe in
democracy--"

"No, you don't," she snapped. "You don't know what the word means."

He stared at her, and felt again that she had failed to be Leonardesque.
"No, you don't!"

Her face was inartistic--that of a peevish virago.

"It isn't fair, Cecil. I blame you--I blame you very much indeed. You
had no business to undo my work about the Miss Alans, and make me look
ridiculous. You call it scoring off Sir Harry, but do you realize that
it is all at my expense? I consider it most disloyal of you."

She left him.

"Temper!" he thought, raising his eyebrows.

No, it was worse than temper--snobbishness. As long as Lucy thought
that his own smart friends were supplanting the Miss Alans, she had
not minded. He perceived that these new tenants might be of value
educationally. He would tolerate the father and draw out the son, who
was silent. In the interests of the Comic Muse and of Truth, he would
bring them to Windy Corner.

Chapter XI: In Mrs. Vyse's Well-Appointed Flat

The Comic Muse, though able to look after her own interests, did not
disdain the assistance of Mr. Vyse. His idea of bringing the Emersons to
Windy Corner struck her as decidedly good, and she carr