Mr. Spence and Mr Barr sat on either side of Miss Kingsley, and I glanced from the one to the other, debating with myself whether I preferred the bold strong beauty of the artist, or the subtile and more delicate traits of feature of the philosopher. For though I had begun by regarding Mr. Spence almost as commonplace in appearance, the earnestness of his manner and the serious fervor of his eyes gave him an expression of having a deep and genuine belief in his own theories, which when compared with the impetuous but more volatile air of Paul Barr commended him to my respect and admiration even while I was flattered by the gallantries of his rival. It was Mr. Barr who first broke the silence after we sat down to table, by asking me if I had not passed the summer at Tinker's Reach. As he spoke in the ordinary guise, I was surprised until it occurred to me that as a member of another school he could hardly be expected, even from courtesy or friendship, to practise doctrines to which he could not subscribe. "Yes," said I. "Malaria," began Mr. Spence. There was a little murmur of expectation, and Mr. Fleisch brimming over with excitement said, "Bad drainage." "No excuse. Sea near. Inhabitants should agitate question," continued Mr. Spence. "Everybody appearance of health notwithstanding," exclaimed Miss Kingsley. "Overmuch ozone," said Mr. Spence. "Unhealthy stimulus. Reaction later," added the little German. "Are we clear? Air of Tinker's Reach you know; so clever," whispered Miss Kingsley leaning toward me behind Mr. Spence's chair. "Sure I shall break down." I nodded to give her encouragement. All this was somewhat bewildering, but I was able to follow the conversation. I was conscious too of Mr. Barr's eyes fixed upon me with intensity. He would eat hurriedly for a moment, and then fold his arms and listen with his brow almost buried in his black bristly beard, and his glance centred on me.