“I don’t suppose I should look well in it,” he said brightly.

   He followed her into the garden. The flowers were cut, and subsequently arranged, in complete silence. He

   had the feeling that anything he said might not be taken down, but would certainly be used in evidence against him.

   And then, in the hall, was heard the voice of Mr. Doom Dagshaw, the proprietor of the Mammoth Circus at the Garden Settlement.

   “Lunch ready? So it ought to be. Don’t announce me. Waste of time. I know my way about in this house.”

   He entered. He was a young man of sulky, somewhat dictatorial expression. His dress had something of the clerical appearance, an effect at which he distinctly aimed.

   “Hallo,” he said, and sat down on the table and yawned. Then he caught sight of Luke.

   “You here?” he said. “What for?”

   “Just a little holiday,” said Luke nervously, “a little treat for me. You don’t mind?”

   Doom Dagshaw did not answer him, but turned to Mabel.

   “Lunch is ready,” he said, “let’s get on to it.”

   They passed into the dining-room. Luke observing salmon at one end of the table, and cutlets at the other, asked, with a smile, if those two sentences generally ran concurrently.

   “Oh, hold your jaw,” said Dagshaw.

   “That’s the way to talk to him,” said Mabel approvingly.

   “Yours, too,” Dagshaw added, turning to Mabel.

   “I’ll do any talking that has to be done. I’m here to talk about my circus. Yes, and to eat ham. Isn’t any? Ought to be. Give me three of those cutlets. You don’t realize what a circus is, you people. It’s a church. It’s a cathedral. It’s more.”

   “I hope,” said Luke, “that it’s getting on nicely, and will be a great success.”

   “Bound to be. Can’t help it. When I bought the land from the Garden Settlement Syndicate I made it a condition that there should be a clause in every lease granted that a 

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