d, so long as he stopped looking at Lord Evelyn's
things. Peter only wanted to get away; he was ashamed and perplexed and
sorry and angry, and stabbed through with pity. He wanted to get out of
Lord Evelyn's house, out of the range of his kindly, whimsical smile and
Cheriton's curious hostile stare; he wanted to be alone with Hilary, and
to understand.

The irony of Cheriton's look increased during bridge; it was certainly
justified by the abstraction of Peter's play.

Lord Evelyn laughed at him. "You need Denis to keep you in order, young
Peter. Lord, how frightened you used to be when Denis was stern. Smiled
and pretended you weren't, but I knew...." He chuckled at the painted
ceiling. "Knew a man at Oxford, Peter ... well, never mind that story
now, you're too young for it.... Anyhow I make it no trumps."

At eleven o'clock Hilary and Peter went home. Lord Evelyn shook hands
with Peter rather affectionately, and said, "Come and see me again soon,
dear boy. Lunch with me at Florian's to-morrow--you and your wealthy
friend. Busy sight-seeing, are you? How banal of you. Morning in the
Duomo, afternoon on the Lido, and the Accademia to fill the spare hours;
I know the dear old round. Never could be worried with it myself; too
much else to do. But one manages to enjoy life even without it, so don't
overwork. And come and see my toys again by daylight, and try to enthuse
a little more over them next time. You're too young to be _blase_.
You'd better read the Gem, to encourage yourself in simple pleasures.
Good-night. Good-night, Margerison."

He shook hands with them both again, possibly to make up for Cheriton,
who did not shake hands at all, but stood with his own in his pockets,
leaning against the wall, his eyes still on Peter's face.

"Queer manners you have, dear Jim," was what they heard Lord Evelyn say
as they stepped into the Ca' delle Gemme gondola, that was taking them
back to the Rio delle Beccarie.

They swung out into the faintly-shining darkness of the water-road, into
which the climbing moon could not look--a darkness crossed and flecked by
the red gleamings of the few gondola and sandolo lights abroad at this
hour in the quiet street. They sent their own red path before them as
they softly travelled; and round it the stars flickered and swam, deep
down. Peter could have sworn he heard their thin, tinkling, submerged,
funny song, somewhere above or beneath the soft and melodious "Cherie
Birri-Bim," th