While Mr. Winthrop’s attention was taken up with his dinner, I took the opportunity of studying more closely this man to whom my dead father had committed so completely the interests and belongings of his only child.  The scrutiny was, in some respects, not greatly reassuring.  I had noticed as we stood near each other in the conservatory that he was a large man, tall, broad-shouldered and muscular.  The face, though handsome, had a cold, stern look that I felt could look at me pitilessly if I incurred his displeasure.  But there was also an expression of high, intellectual power; an absorbed, self-contained look that seemed to set him apart from others as one who could live independently, if necessary, of the society of his fellow men.  I should like to be his friend, was my thought, as finding that Hubert was watching me, I turned my attention to my neglected dinner.  Mrs. Flaxman in her gentle fashion kept the conversation from utterly flagging, although we none of us gave her much help.  Unasked she gave a pleasant account of the happenings at Oaklands, the ongoings of his human and dumb dependents; how the Alderneys at her suggestion had been transferred to richer pasturage, and the consequent increase in cream; the immense crop of fruit and vegetables, so much more than they could possibly require, and would it be best to sell the overplus?

“Why not give it to the poor?” I said, eagerly.

“Would that pay, do you think?” Mr. Winthrop inquired, giving me at the same time a curiously intent look.

“The poor would thank you.”

“How do you know there are any?”

“I have met a good many myself.  I dare say there are others I know nothing about.”

He turned a keen look at Mrs. Flaxman; I saw her face flush; probably he noticed it as well as I. Then he said, quite gravely:—­

“You shall have all the surplus for your needy acquaintances; only you must superintend the distribution.  I firmly believe in giving philanthropists their share of the labor.”

The color flamed into my face, I could hardly repress the retort:—­“Why do you spoil the grace of your gift so ungraciously?” but I left the words unsaid until he left the room, when I relieved my feelings much to Hubert’s amusement, who brightened greatly once the door was closed upon him and we were alone.

“I could like that man better than any one I know if he hadn’t such a beastly way of conferring favors.  Once I get earning money I shall pay him every cent that I have cost him,” Hubert said vindictively.

“Including Faery and the choice cigars?” his mother asked, with a sad little smile.

Hubert flushed.  “What are they to one of his means?”

“But if you pay him some day it will take you so much longer to pay for them,” I said, surprised he had not remembered this.

“I can’t part with Faery.  Youth is such a beggarly short affair, if one can’t have pleasure then, when will they get it?”