"Good morning, Miss Baldwin."
It was the Honourable Edward George Francis Castlestuart-Stuart, third secretary of the British Embassy, whom Eleanor had asked to breakfast that morning. She grew pale as she rose to greet him—suppose—suppose he had heard that remark about the shoe-stitching machine? And what was more likely? The shoe-stitching machine was the family skeleton, and was usually kept under lock and key. By some occult and malign impulse her father had hauled it out and rattled it in Mrs. Hill-Smith's face, and perhaps it might be known at the British Embassy!
Baldwin himself realised the impropriety of his conduct, and tried to rectify it by saying, with great cordiality, to the Honourable Mr. Castlestuart-Stuart:
"Good morning—good morning. Very pleased to see you. You find me, as usual, among my books—my best and oldest friends."
To this Castlestuart-Stuart replied simply, like the honest Briton that he was:
"I hate books."
Baldwin was nearly paralysed at this, and still
