That nobleman in resplendent morning attire entered with an air that was fatherly.
“Is it my privilege to make you known to one another?” said he, with an air of vast benevolence. “My ward, Miss Perry. Mr. Lascelles, the coming Gainsborough.”
“Oh, I’ve known Jim——” Miss Perry began blurting, when it is grievous to have to inform the gentle reader that Jim Lascelles dealt her a stealthy but absolutely unmistakable kick on the shin in quite the old Widdiford manner.
“Can you tell me where Balham is?” Miss Perry inquired of Lord Cheriton with really wonderful presence of mind. But there was a real honest tear in her eyes; and tears are known to be an excellent old-fashioned specific for the wits.
“Certainly I can,” said he, with courtly alacrity. “Balham is an outlying part of the vast metropolis. It is a most interesting place with many honorable associations.”
“Jim,” the luckless Miss Perry was beginning, but happily on this occasion Jim Lascelles had no need to do more than show her his boot, while Cheriton’s sense of hearing was by no means so acute as it might have been; “Mr. Lascelles,” Miss Perry contrived to correct herself, “lives at Balham.”
“Then we are able,” said Cheriton, “to congratulate Mr. Lascelles and also to congratulate Balham. But tell me, Lascelles, why you live in an outlying part of the vast metropolis when the center calls you?”
“We live at Balham,” said Jim, “my mother and I, because it is cheap and respectable.”
“A satisfying combination,” said Cheriton. “I trust the presence of my ward, Miss Perry, does not retard the progress of your artistic labors?”
“Quite the contrary, I assure you,” said Jim, with excellent politeness.