When John was introduced to Sir Peter, he stood very straight; one stood at attention instinctively, before Sir Peter.
"Very pleased, indeed, to meet you, sir," said Sir Peter. "You don't happen to be of the Sussex Landlesses, do you; I knew a Hugh Landless at Cambridge."
"Yes, sir. They are my people. He was my father."
"Really. Let me see: he took orders, did he not? I hope I am not to infer——"
"He died last June, sir."
"I beg your pardon. I didn't know. I am sorry not to have seen more of him after he left the University. He was a most likeable fellow. We shall see more of you, I trust? Have you been long in London?"
"I came after—at once. There was nothing to keep me there, and I felt I must begin work in my profession immediately."
If John had been looking at Phyllis, he would have seen her face flush slightly; an anxious look came into her eyes. But he was looking at Sir Peter.
"What is it to be?" asked Sir Peter. "Not the Church?"
"No, sir." John's chin was noticeable now. "I follow the profession of poetry."