Willie, you know."

"No. I didn't like him much. But I _loved_ his letters." Mrs. Nevill
Tyson looked at the tips of her little shoes, and Mr. Nevill Tyson looked
at her.

"So Willie doesn't count, doesn't he?"

"No. He was a fool. He never did anything. Nevill, what did father think
you'd done?"

"I really cannot say. Nothing to deserve you, I suppose."

"Rubbish! I know all that. But he said there was something, and he
wouldn't tell me what. Anyhow, you didn't do it, did you?"

"Probably not."

"Come, I think you might tell me when I've confessed all my little sins
to you." Mrs. Nevill Tyson was persistent, not because she in the least
wanted to know, but because nobody likes being beaten.

"I don't know what the dear old pater was driving at. I don't suppose he
knew himself. He was a scholar, not a man of the world. He could read any
Greek poet, I daresay, who was dead enough and dull enough; but when a
real live Englishman walked into his study, it seemed to put him out
somehow. He didn't like me, and he showed it. All the same, I think I
could have made him like me if he'd given me a chance. I don't suppose
he does me any injustice now."

"No. He knew an awful lot about those stupid old Greeks and Romans and
people, but I don't think he knew much about you. I expect he made it up
to frighten mother. That reminds me, what _do_ you think Miss Batchelor
says about you? She told mother that it was a pity you hadn't any
profession--every man ought to have a profession--keep you out of
mischief. I wasn't going to have her talking like that about _my_
husband--the impudent thing!--so I just stopped her yesterday in Moxon's
shop and told her you had a profession. I led up to it so neatly, you
can't think. I said you were going to be a barrister or a judge or
something."

"A judge? That's rather a large order. But you know you mustn't tell
stories, you little minx. Miss Batchelor's too clever to take all that
in."

"Well, but it's true. You _are_ going to be a barrister, and everybody
knows that barristers grow into judges, if you feed them properly."

"But I haven't the remotest intention of being a barrister. How did you
get hold of that notion?"

"Oh, I knew it all along. Papa said so."

"You must have been mistaken."

"Not a bit. I'll tell you exactly what he said. I heard him talking about
it to mother in the library. I wasn't listening, you know. I--I heard
your name, and I couldn't help it. He sa