On his way downstairs John met Margaret.
“Have you heard of our guest?” she asked.
“Alter? Yes. Is it an ordeal?”
“Oh no. He is really a delightful person—tremendously interested in everything. The only people he can’t endure are old ladies with salons who pat the lion. Mr. Alter won’t be patted.”
“Of course he is pleasant to you,” said John. “But, if he knows anything of the Navy, he won’t have much use for junior midshipmen.”
“Why not?”
John did not wish to explain. “Oh,” he said vaguely, “junior midshipmen are rather looked down on in the Service.”
“Only by senior midshipmen or their equivalent,” she answered. “You will find that Mr. Alter doesn’t take much notice of rank—rank of any kind, I mean, except that of ability.”
At the foot of the stairs John’s attention was arrested by a portrait in oils that hung there.
“Who is that?” he asked.