"Mr. Stretton is our tutor," said Harry, kindly explaining his remark to the visitor. "He only came yesterday morning. He had a holiday when we came here; and so had we."
"I presume that you like holidays," said Hugo, caressing the silky moustache that was just covering his upper lip, and smiling at the child, with a notion that he was making himself pleasant to the ladies of the party by doing so.
"I liked holidays before Mr. Stretton came to us," said Harry. "But I don't mind lessons half so much now. He teaches in such a jolly sort of way."
"Mr. Stretton is a favourite," remarked Hugo, looking at the mother.
"Such a clever man!" sighed Mrs. Heron. "So kind to the children! We met him in Italy."
"I think I saw him at the station yesterday. He has grey hair?"
"Yes, but he's quite young," interposed Harry, indignantly. "He isn't thirty; I asked him. He had a brain fever, and it turned his hair grey; he told me so."
"It has a very striking effect," said Mrs. Heron, languidly. "He has a fine face—my husband says a beautiful face—and framed in that grey hair——I wish you could see him, Mr. Luttrell, but he is so shy that it seems impossible to drag him out of his own particular den."
"So very shy, is he?" thought Hugo to himself. "I wonder where I have seen him. I am sure I have seen him before, and I am sure that he knew me. Well, I must wait. I suppose I shall meet him again in the course of time."
He took his leave, remembering that he had already out-stayed the conventional limits of a call; and he was pleased when Mrs. Heron showed some warmth of interest in his future movements, and expressed a wish to see him again very soon. Her words showed either ignorance or languid neglect of the usages of society, but they did not offend him. He wanted to come again. He wanted to see more of Kitty.