town, and it is a bore staying on at the Briars now old Fred has
gone."

"When do you want to come to me?" asked Malcolm. "I am to sleep at
Queen's Gate the next two nights, and I have promised to take Miss
Sheldon out to-morrow. She is my mother's adopted daughter, you
know--Anna Sheldon. I have often mentioned her to you."

Then Cedric nodded.

"I shall be back at Chelsea on Friday, if you like to come to me
then; but the guest-chamber is remarkably small--at present it holds
all my lumber and little else." But as Cedric professed himself
indifferent on the subject of his own comfort--an assertion that
drew a covert smile from his friend's lips--the matter was soon
settled.

An animated conversation ensued, consisting mainly of a disjointed
monologue on Cedric's part; for Malcolm Herrick only contributed a
laconic remark or question at intervals, but there was a kindly
gleam in his eyes as he listened, as though the fair, closely-
cropped head lying back on the shabby cushion, with the eager bright
young face, was a goodly spectacle.

At first sight the friendship between these two men seemed
singularly ill-assorted; for what possible affinity could there be
between a thoughtful, intellectual man like Malcolm Herrick, with
his habitual reserve, his nature refined, critical, and yet
imaginative, with its strong bias to pessimism, and its intolerance
of all shams, and Cedric, with his facile, pleasure-loving