" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. “We have to be— modern.
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