he intended some day to realize. It was delightful after all to be
young and strong, to be stripped for the race in the morning of life,
when every indrawn breath seems sweet with the perfume of beautiful
things, and the heart is tuned to music.

The fatigue of the day was wholly forgotten. He was surprised indeed
when he found himself in the little street where his rooms were. A
small brougham was standing at the corner, the liveries and horse of
which, though quiet enough, caused him a moment's surprise as being
superior to the ordinary equipages of the neighborhood. He passed on
to the sober-fronted house where he lived, and entering with his
latch-key made his way to his study. Immediately he entered he was
conscious of a man comfortably seated in his easy-chair, and apparently
engrossed in a magazine.

He advanced towards him inquiringly, and his visitor, carefully setting
down the magazine, rose slowly to his feet. The young man's surprise at
finding his rooms occupied was increased by the appearance of his
visitor. He was apparently of more than middle age, with deeply-lined
face, tall, and with an expression the coldness of which was only
slightly mitigated by a sensitive mouth that seemed at once cynical and
humorous. He was of more than ordinary height, and dressed in the
plainest dinner garb of the day, but his dinner jacket, his black tie
and the set of his shirt were revelations to Brooks, who dealt only
with the Medchester tradespeople. He did not hold out his hand, but he
eyed Brooks with a sort of critical survey, which the latter found a
little disconcerting.

"You wished to see me, sir?" Brooks asked. "My name is Kingston Brooks,
and these are my rooms."