te in that expressive voice of hers. Was it merely
wistful, was it really jealous, or was either element the product of my
own imagination? I made answer while I wondered:

"Absolutely devoted, I should say; but it's years since I saw them
together. Bob was a small boy then, and one of the jolliest. Still I
never expected him to grow up the charming chap he is now."

Mrs. Lascelles sat gazing at the great curve of Theodule Glacier. I
watched her face.

"He _is_ charming," she said at length. "I am not sure that I ever met
anybody quite like him, or rather I am quite sure that I never did. He
is so quiet, in a way, and yet so wonderfully confident and at ease!"

"That's Eton," said I. "He is the best type of Eton boy, and the best
type of Eton boy," I declared, airing the little condition with a
flourish, "is one of the greatest works of God."

"I daresay you're right," said Mrs. Lascelles, smiling indulgently; "but
what is it? How do you define it? It isn't 'side,' and yet I can quite
imagine people who don't know him thinking that it is. He is cocksure of
himself, but of nothing else; that seems to me to be the difference. No
one could possibly be more simple in himself. He may have the assurance
of a man of fifty, yet it isn't put on; it's neither bumptious nor
affected, but just as natural in Mr. Evers as shyness and awkwardness in
the ordinary youth one meets. And he has the _savoir faire_ not to ask
questions!"

Were we all mistaken? Was this the way in which a designing woman would
speak of the object of her designs? Not that I thought so hardly of Mrs.
Lascelles myself; but I did think that she might well fall in love with
Bob Evers, at least as well as he with her. Was this, then, the way in
which a woman would be likely to speak of the young man with whom she
had fallen in love? To me the appreciation sounded too frank and
discerning and acute. Yet I could not call it dispassionate, and
frankness was this woman's outstanding merit, though I was beginning to
discover others as well. Moreover, the fact remained that they had been
greatly talked about; that at any rate must be stopped and I was there
to stop it.

I began to pick my words.

"It's all Eton, except what is in the blood, and it's all a question of
manners, or rather of manner. Don't misunderstand me, Mrs. Lascelles. I
don't say that Bob isn't independent in character as well as in his
ways, but only that when all's said he's still a boy and n