Antonia, too, seemed to keep her eyes away from him. She was talking to a Connoisseur on Art of supernatural appearances, and seemed in the highest spirits. Shelton rose, and, going to the sideboard, helped himself to grouse.
"Who was the young man I saw yesterday on the lawn?" he heard the Connoisseur remark. "Struck me as having an--er--quite intelligent physiog."His own intelligent physiog, raised at a slight slant so that he might look the better through his nose-nippers, was the very pattern of approval. "It's curious how one's always meeting with intelligence;" it seemed to say. Mrs. Dennant paused in the act of adding cream, and Shelton scrutinised her face; it was hare-like, and superior as ever. Thank goodness she had smelt no rat! He felt strangely disappointed.
"You mean Monsieur Ferrand, teachin' Toddles French? Dobson, the Professor's cup.""I hope I shall see him again," cooed the Connoisseur; "he was quite interesting on the subject of young German working men. It seems they tramp from place to place to learn their trades. What nationality was he, may I ask?"Mr. Dennant, of whom he asked this question, lifted his brows, and said, "Ask Shelton.""Half Dutch, half French."
"Very interesting breed; I hope I shall see him again.""Well, you won't," said Thea suddenly; "he's gone."Shelton saw that their good breeding alone prevented all from adding, "And thank goodness, too!""Gone? Dear me, it's very--"