their feeling of likeness in difference. Ten years ago Carnaby felt
inclined to call his old school-fellow a 'cad'; Harvey saw nothing in
Hugh but robust snobbishness. Nowadays they had the pleasant sense of
understanding each other on most points, and the result was a good deal
of honest mutual admiration. The one's physical vigour and adroitness,
the other's active mind, liberal thoughts, studious habits, proved
reciprocally attractive. Though in unlike ways, both were impressively
modern. Of late it had seemed as if the man of open air, checked in his
natural courses, thrown back upon his meditations, turned to the
student, with hope of guidance in new paths, of counsel amid unfamiliar
obstacles. To the observant Rolfe, his friend's position abounded in
speculative interest. With the course of years, each had lost many a
harsher characteristic, whilst the inner man matured. That their former
relations were gradually being reversed, neither perhaps had consciously
noted; but even in the jests which passed between them on Harvey's
arrival this evening, it appeared plainly enough that Hugh Carnaby no
longer felt the slightest inclination to regard his friend as an
inferior.

The room, called library, contained one small case of books, which dealt
with travel and sport. Furniture of the ordinary kind, still new, told
of easy circumstances and domestic comfort. Round about the walls hung a
few paintings and photographs, intermingled with the stuffed heads of
animals slain in the chase, notably that of a great ibex with
magnificent horns.

'Come, now, tell me all about it,' said Rolfe, as he mixed himself a
glass of whisky and water. 'I don't see that anything has gone from this
room.'