"Oh! rubbish," growled Archibald, rudely; "come and smoke."

The smoking-room was quite empty, so the young men established themselves in two comfortable armchairs, and devoted their energies to the consumption of tobacco. Clendon preferred the frivolous cigarette, but Archie produced with loving care a well coloured meerschaum, which had been his companion for many years.

"This is a travelled pipe," he said to his friend when the blue smoke was rolling in clouds from his mouth, "a very Ulysses of pipes. It has been in far countries and knoweth the ways of the stranger."

"Good idea for a story," observed Toby, who was always on the look-out for copy. "'The Tale of a Pipe in ten Fills.' Egad! I think it ought to go capitally. It's so difficult to get an idea nowadays."

Maxwell, luxuriating in his pipe, grunted in a manner which might have meant anything, so Toby promptly attacked him on his want of manners.

"You might speak to a fellow when a fellow speaks to you! I tell you what, Archie, you've changed for the worse since we were at school together. Then you were a gregarious animal, and now you are an unsociable beast."

"Don't call names, my good man! I can't help being quiet. My thoughts are far away."

"Pish! not so very far."

"Well, perhaps not."

"Have you asked her to marry you?"

"Hardly! I've only known her a fortnight, and besides, I've got no money."

"No; but she has!"

"I don't want to live on my wife. I'm going away to South America."

"Never to see her again, I suppose," said Toby, ironically; "don't talk nonsense, Archie. You're madly in love with Miss Pethram and don't want to lose sight of her."

"True! but I must when she goes away from here."

"Not a bit of it. Listen, I will be your good angel."

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