its tapestries, its pictures, its air of magnificent English stability, finely represented all that had gone before, all that was going on now was inclosed in the two large arm-chairs drawn close to this ideal fire, in each of which sat a young man. They talked, but in desultory fashion, with frequent but not awkward pauses of some length, for any social duty of keeping the conversation going was to them quite outside a practical call. They had been shooting all this superb, frosty day, and the return to warmth and indoors, though productive of profound content, does not conduce to loquacity.

"Yes, a bath would be a very good thing," said one; "but it is perhaps a question whether in the absolutely immediate future tea would not be a better!"

This was too strong a suggestion to be merely called a hint, and the other rose.

"Sorry, Geoffrey," he said, "I never ordered tea. I was thinking—no, I don't think I was thinking. Tea first, bath afterward," he added, meditatively.

Geoffrey Langham stroked an imperceptible mustache.

[Pg 5]

[Pg 5]

"That's what I was thinking," he said; "and I am glad to see you appreciate the importance of little things, Harry. Little things like tea and baths matter far the most."

"Anyhow they occur much the oftenest," said Lord Vail.

"I was beginning to be afraid tea wasn't going to occur at all," said Geoffrey.

Harry Vail appeared to consider this.

"You were wrong then," he said, "and you are on the way to become a sensuous voluptuary."

"On the way?" said Geoffrey. "I have arrived. Ah! and tea is following my excellent example."

The advent of lamps banished the mustering and dispersal of the leaping shadows and threw the two figures seated on either side of the tea table into strong light, and, taken together, into even stronger contrast. The birthright of a good digestion, you would say, had been given to each, and for no mess of pottage had either bartered the clear eye and firm leanness of perfect health; but apart from this, and a 

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