for a moment. He felt rather dazed, as
if someone had hit him a blow on the head. He had to remember what was
this funny bounder's place in the newly-revealed scheme of things. Not
merely a funny bounder after all, it seemed, but just what Cheriton had
called him. But one couldn't let him know that one thought so; one was
ostensibly on Hilary's side, against honesty, against decency, against
all the world.

So Peter, having located Vyvian and himself in this matter, said nothing
at all, but went on upstairs.

Vyvian, staring after him in astonishment (none of Hilary's boarders had
seen Peter discourteous before), raised his eyebrows again, and whistled
beneath his breath.

"So we're too fine for our brother's dirty jobs! I'm dashed if I don't
believe it's that!"

Peter went upstairs rather too quickly for his heart. He returned to the
saloon and collapsed suddenly into a chair, feeling giddy. Mrs. Johnson
came in a moment later and found him leaning back with closed eyes. She
was disturbed about his complexion.

"The colour of putty, poor Mr. Peter! You've bin excitin' yourself,
tearin' about sight-seein', _I_ know. Tell me now just how you feel. I'm
blest if I don't believe you've a-bin in the Cathedral, smellin' at that
there choky incense! It takes me like that, always; and Miss Gould says
she's just the same. Funny feelin's within, haven't you now?"

"Yes," said Peter, "just exactly that"; and they so overcame him that he
began to laugh helplessly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson," he said presently. "I'm an ass. But I'm all
right now. I came upstairs in a hurry, that's all. And before that a man
talked so loud and so fast that it took my breath away. It may be silly,
but I _am_ like that, as Miss Barnett says. My brother and sister-in-law
are both out, aren't they?"

Mrs. Johnson, sitting down opposite him and studying the returning tints
of his complexion, nodded.

"That's it," she said, more cheerfully. "You're gettin' a wholesome white
again now. I didn't like that unhealthy greeny-grey. But you've none of
you any colour, you gentlemen--not you nor your brother nor that pasty
Vyvian. None of you but the little curate; he had a nice little pink
face. I'm sure I wish some gals cared more for looks, and then they
wouldn't go after some as are as well let alone." This cryptic remark was
illuminated by a sigh. Mrs. Johnson, now that she saw Peter improving in
complexion, reverted to her own troubles.

Peter r