"I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. "Crime upon crime. Then Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and turned about. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. "You've been quizzing my friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate. The last piece was Scheherazade. I wouldn't keep an apprentice to set my authority at defiance.
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