, "at least I don't want to see his pictures,
face to face, until I've insured my life. I must think of my widow and
the children."

Here Nigel's young brother, Charlie, arrived. He was a slimmer, younger,
but less good-looking edition of Nigel. He had just come down from
Oxford, was pleasant, gentle, and appeared to be trying to repress a
natural inclination to be a nut. He called on Bertha in the hope of
seeing Madeline.

"I say, the Futurist chap has just been here," said Nigel to Charlie.

"Good! What's he like?"

"A little bit of all right. Frightfully fascinating, as girls say," said
Nigel.

"He's not so bad," said Bertha mildly.

"Isn't he? I've seen the pictures. But what _is_ he like? The sort of
chap you'd like to be seen with?" asked the young man.

"Well--not acutely," replied Nigel.

"Very dark, is he? quite black?"

"Yes."

"Good teeth?"

"Yes, several."

"Clean-shaven?"

"Not very."

There was a pause.

"But is he really an Italian?" asked Charlie.

"Shouldn't think so," said Nigel carelessly.

"What then?" asked Bertha, laughing.

"Scotch, probably."

"Very likely, if he's clever. They say all the clever people come from
Scotland," Charlie remarked.

"And the cleverer they are, the sooner they come, I suppose," said
Bertha. "Fancy the MacFuturist in a kilt!"

"But where does he come from ... where does he really live?" continued
Charlie, who seemed to have a special, suspicious curiosity on the
subject.

"Rapallo," said Bertha.

"Where's that?"

"The first turning to the left on the map as you go to Monte Carlo,"
said Nigel.

"But what _did_ he say--was he very odd and peculiar?"

"Oh, he carried on like one o'clock about Futurism," said Bertha.

"I thought every moment would be my next," said Nigel.

"What nonsense you're both talking," said Bertha.

"Yes, and if Charlie thinks he's going to sit me out by asking
questions, he's jolly well mistaken," Nigel said. "Look here, old chap,
Bertha's going out. I know she wants to get into her glad raiment. I'll
drop you."

"Right-o!" said Charlie, jumping up.

They took their leave. Bertha looked amused.

CHAPTER VII

RUSSIAN BALLET

Arrangements had been made that Mrs. Nigel Hillier was to have a little
dinner at home for her mother (with whom Nigel was not supposed to be on
terms); and she and her parent were to go to the St. James's Theatre,
for which two stalls had been purchased. Nigel pretended he