That kind of thing will out.' 'I wonder whether it matters--to a genius ?' said Eugenie, musing.
'It matters to everybody!' cried Lord Findon.

'Gentlefolk, my dear, say what you will, are the result of a long natural selection--and you can't make 'em in a hurry.' 'And what about genius?
You will admit, papa, that a good many gentlefolk in the world go to one genius!' The light was still good enough to show Lord Findon that, in spite of her flicker of gaiety, Eugenie was singularly pale.

And he knew well that they were both listening for the same step on the stairs.
However, he tried to keep it up.
'Genius ?' he said, humming and hawing--'genius?
How do we know what it is--or who has it?
Everybody's so diabolically clever nowadays.

Take my advice, Eugenie--I know you want to play Providence to that young fellow--you think you'll civilise him, and that kind of thing; but I warn you--he hasn't got breeding enough to stand it.' Eugenie drew a long breath.
'Well, don't scold me, papa--if I try--I must'-- her voice escaped her, and she began again, firmly--'I must have something to fill up.' 'Fill up what ?' She looked round to make sure that the servants had finished clearing away the tea, and that they were alone.
'The days--and the hours,' she said, softly.

'One must have something to think of.' Lord Findon frowned.
'He will fall in love with you, Eugenie--and then where shall we be ?' He heard a laugh--very sweet--very feminine, yet, to his ear, very forlorn.
'I'll take care of that.