“He's not a German, I hope,” Mrs. Dennant answered, passing her forgers round a petal, to impress its fashion on her brain; “I don't like Germans. Is n't he the one you wrote about—come down in the world? Such a pity with so young a fellow! His father was a merchant, I think you told us. Antonia says he 's quite refined to look at.”
“Oh, yes,” said Shelton, feeling on safe ground; “he's refined enough to look at.”
Mrs. Dennant took the rose and put it to her nose.
“Delicious perfume! That was a very touchin' story about his goin' without food in Paris. Old Mrs. Hopkins has a room to let; I should like to do her a good turn. I'm afraid there's a hole in the ceilin', though. Or there's the room here in the left wing on the ground-floor where John the footman used to sleep. It's quite nice; perhaps he could have that.”
“You 're awfully kind,” said Shelton, “but—”
“I should like to do something to restore his self-respect,”, went on Mrs. Dennant, “if, as you say, he 's clever and all that. Seein' a little refined life again might make a world of difference to him. It's so sad when a young man loses self-respect.”
Shelton was much struck by the practical way in which she looked at things. Restore his self-respect! It seemed quite a splendid notion! He smiled, and said,
“You're too kind. I think—”
“I don't believe in doin' things by halves,” said Mrs. Dennant; “he does n't drink, I suppose?”
“Oh, no,” said Shelton. “He's rather a tobacco maniac, of course.”