books, for as it chanced there was a good library at Hawk’s Hall, which had been formed by the previous owner and taken over like the pictures, when Mr. Blake bought the house. Also it was added to constantly, as an order was given to a large London bookseller to supply all the important new works that came out. Although he never opened a book himself, Sir John liked to appear intellectual by displaying them about the rooms for the benefit of his visitors. These publications Isobel read and lent to Godfrey; indeed they perused a great deal which young people generally are supposed to leave alone, and this in various schools of thought, including those that are known as “free.” 

 It was seldom that such studies led to unanimity between them, but to argument, which sharpened their intellects, they did lead, followed invariably by a charitable agreement to differ. 

 About the time of the addition of the name of John Blake to the roll of British Chivalry, a book on Mars came their way—it was one by a speculative astronomer which suggests that the red planet is the home of reasoning beings akin to humanity. Isobel read it and was not impressed. Indeed, in the vigorous language of youth, she opined that it was all “made-up rot.” 

 Godfrey read it also and came to quite a different conclusion. The idea fired him and opened a wide door in his imagination, a quality with which he was well provided. He stared at Mars through the large Hall telescope, and saw, or imagined that he saw the canals, also the snow-caps and the red herbage. Isobel stared too and saw, or swore that she saw—nothing at all—after which they argued until their throats were dry. 

 “It’s all nonsense,” said Isobel. “If only you’ll study the rocks and biology, and Darwin’s ‘Origin of Species,’ and lots of other things, you will see how man came to develop on this planet. He is just an accident of Nature, that’s all.” 

 “And why shouldn’t there be an accident of Nature on Mars and elsewhere?” queried Godfrey. 

 “Perhaps, but if so, it is quite another accident and has nothing to do with us.” 

 “I don’t know,” he answered. “Sometimes,” here his voice became dreamy as it had a way of doing, “I think that we pass on, all of us, from star to star. At least I know I often feel as if I had done so.” 

 “You mean from planet to planet, Godfrey; stars are hot places, you know. You should not swallow all that theosophical bosh which is based on nothing.” 

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