man," Nick made answer--insufficiently, she thought, and
even with a shade of hesitation. He spoke as if she might have supposed
he was not one, and if he was really one why didn't he introduce him?
But Biddy wouldn't for the world have put this question, and he now
moved to the nearest bench and dropped upon it as to await the other's
return. No sooner, however, had his sister seated herself than he said:
"See here, my dear, do you think you had better stay?"

"Do you want me to go back to mother?" the girl asked with a lengthening
visage.

"Well, what do you think?" He asked it indeed gaily enough.

"Is your conversation to be about--about private affairs?"

"No, I can't say that. But I doubt if mother would think it the sort of
thing that's 'necessary to your development.'"

This assertion appeared to inspire her with the eagerness with which she
again broke out: "But who are they--who are they?"

"I know nothing of the ladies. I never saw them before. The man's a
fellow I knew very well at Oxford. He was thought immense fun there.
We've diverged, as he says, and I had almost lost sight of him, but not
so much as he thinks, because I've read him--read him with interest. He
has written a very clever book."

"What kind of a book?"

"A sort of novel."

"What sort of novel?"

"Well, I don't know--with a lot of good writing." Biddy listened to this
so receptively that she thought it perverse her brother should add: "I
daresay Peter will have come if you return to mother."

"I don't care if he has. Peter's nothing to me. But I'll go if you wish
it."

Nick smiled upon her again and then said: "It doesn't signify. We'll all
go."

"All?" she echoed.

"He won't hurt us. On the contrary he'll do us good."

This was possible, the girl reflected in silence, but none the less the
idea struck her as courageous, of their taking the odd young man back to
breakfast with them and with the others, especially if Peter should be
there. If Peter was nothing to her it was singular she should have
attached such importance to this contingency. The odd young man
reappeared, and now that she saw him without his queer female appendages
he seemed personally less weird. He struck her moreover, as generally a
good deal accounted for by the literary character, especially if it were
responsible for a lot of good writing. As he took his place on the bench
Nick said to him, indicating her, "My sister Bridget," and then
mentioned his