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"Failed in life completely," I added, as she laughed.

The smile died from her face and a faintly anxious, deeply solicitous look took its place as, turning, she said quietly,

"Here he is."

A tall slender boy, looking more than his fourteen years, came out on to the terrace, staring hard at me as he approached.

Yes, thought I, definitely different; very highly strung. A fine forehead and not so fine a chin; too small and pointed. Aristocrat; inbred; balanced on a very fine edge. Fine nervous hands. Very good mouth indeed; nothing petulant, greedy, weak or peevish there. Beautiful eyes; too big. Ought to have been a girl. Dressed in a girl's clothes, nobody would use the word 'boyish' about her, him, it.

"This is Anthony," said Lady Calderton, "and I do so hope he will be a credit to you... This is Mr. Waring, Anthony, who has so kindly come to look after you and help you while we are away."

The boy shook hands gravely.

"How d'you do," said he. "Do you fence?"

"Yes," said I. "I do."

"Oh, good," he observed. And leaving it at that, turned to the tea-table, and with complete self-possession, became one of the circle, an equal.