green and spring-like, and nurses with perambulators and children of various sizes were passing along the pavement by the iron railings. They and the sunshine struck a very definite note of buoyancy and youth, and for a moment General Carden felt not entirely as young as he could wish. [Pg 55]The room seemed a little lonely, and the house rather large for one occupant—servants, naturally, did not count. General Carden did not exactly express this thought to his mind in words. He was not a man given to sentimentality either in thought or speech. It was merely represented by a little indefinite and not very pleasant impression. He wheeled his chair round to his writing-desk, which he unlocked, and began looking through various letters with a show of businesslike energy.

[Pg 55]

Some half-hour or so later he appeared in the hall. The butler was there already with an overcoat, a silk hat, and an air of reserved dignity. He put General Carden into the overcoat and handed him the hat.

“Have you put the books in the car?” asked General Carden.

“Yes, sir,” replied Goring. There was the faintest suspicion of reproof in the reply.

“Ah! yes, of course, of course; I mentioned it at breakfast.” General Carden took up his gloves and passed into the sunshine down the steps, an upright figure in grey overcoat, white spats, and hat shining glossily in the light.

[Pg 56]

[Pg 56]

“Good morning, Alcott; the car running well?”

“First rate, sir.”

“That’s right; that’s right. You can take a turn in the Park and afterwards go to Mudie’s.”

“Very good, sir.”

General Carden got in, and the car purred gently up the street.

He settled himself comfortably into a corner, and glanced at the books on the seat opposite to him. He had a subscription at Mudie’s, and kept himself thoroughly up in the present-day novel. He did not care to hear a new book mentioned and have to allow that he had not read it. Of course, the present-day literature could not compare with that of the older novelists—that was 

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