Giles rose, and laid hands on the teapot.
"My dear Giles! What am I thinking about? Now that is the worst of me. If I begin to talk, I forget everything. And poor Jean half starved! No? But I am sure you must be. Have you had a proper lunch? Only sandwiches! Could you not eat an egg? Well, at all events you must take plenty of bread-and-butter."
Giles relinquished the teapot, handed eatables, and found his way to a seat nearer Jean, where he could study her at leisure—for Jem's sake. He was at pains to draw her out, endeavouring to bring about a relaxation of her too serious face. Weather and journey were discussed for a while with no particular result, and Prince was called up to be caressed by Jean.
"Fond of reading," Giles asked presently, noting a glance towards the bookcase. "You won't find dissertations here on cheese-mites or atoms. That is the correct thing for a young lady, I am told."
Jean's grave lips unbent.
"Wufflestone lags behind the age. But if you want to begin studies in Phrenology, and all that sort of thing, you have come to the right place. My aunt has a perfect library of such literature."
"I should like to know more about Phrenology."
"The science of bumps! I am not sure that I shall not recommend Lavater. Rather big volumes, but you can soon skim them. Plenty about features—noses, chins, and so on. You've no conception what an amount of character exists in your neighbours' noses."
"Not really?" said Jean.
"Not a doubt of it. There's the sensible nose, and the stupid nose; the cogitative nose and the unintellectual nose; the ill-tempered nose and the sweet-tempered nose; the strong nose and the weak nose."