uch of the Monteith
connection. He lived in lodgings at Brackenhurst, at a highly
inconvenient distance from town, so as to be near their house, and catch
whatever rays of reflected glory might fall upon his head like a shadowy
halo from their horses and carriages, their dinners and garden-parties.
He did not like, therefore, to introduce into his sister's house anybody
that Robert Monteith, that moneyed man of oil, in the West African
trade, might consider an undesirable acquaintance. But as time wore
on, and Bertram's new clothes came home from the tailor's, it began to
strike the Civil Servant's mind that the mysterious Alien, though he
excited much comment and conjecture in Brackenhurst, was accepted on
the whole by local society as rather an acquisition to its ranks than
otherwise. He was well off: he was well dressed: he had no trade or
profession: and Brackenhurst, undermanned, hailed him as a godsend
for afternoon teas and informal tennis-parties. That ineffable air of
distinction as of one royal born, which Philip had noticed at once the
first evening they met, seemed to strike and impress almost everybody
who saw him. People felt he was mysterious, but at any rate he was
Someone. And then he had been everywhere--except in Europe; and had seen
everything--except their own society: and he talked agreeably when he
was not on taboos: and in suburban towns, don't you know, an outsider
who brings fresh blood into the field--who has anything to say we do not
all know beforehand--is always welcome! So Brackenhurst accepted Bertram
Ingledew before long, as an eccentric but interesting and romantic
person.

Not that he stopped much in Brackenhurst itself. He went up to town
every day almost as regularly as Robert Monteith and Philip Christy.
He had things he wanted to observe there, he said, for the work he
was engaged upon. And the work clearly occupied the best part of his
energies. Every night he came down to Brackenhurst with his notebook
crammed full of modern facts and illustrative instances. He worked most
of all in the East End, he told Frida confidentially: there he could see
best the remote results of certain painful English customs and usages he
was anxious to study. Still, he often went west, too; for the West End
taboos, though not in some cases so distressing as the East End ones,
were at times much more curiously illustrative and ridiculous. He must
master all branches of the subject alike. He spoke so se