“What an odd thing it is that we should never have been introduced before!” he began, lighting his own cigar and scanning the other man with youthful, admiring eyes. “It is odd,” returned Loring placidly, throwing himself into an arm-chair as he spoke, and signing an invitation to Julian to establish himself in another. “Especially as, like every one else, I’ve been an immense admirer of your mother all this year. I wonder whether you recognise what a lucky fellow you are, Romayne?” Julian’s eyes sparkled with pleasure at the easy familiarity of the address, and he crossed his legs with careless self-importance, as he answered, with the lightness of youth: “I ought to, oughtn’t I? I say, I know my mother would be awfully pleased to know you. You must let me introduce you to her. Are you coming on to the Ponsonbys’ to-night?” “I shall be only too delighted,” answered Loring, watching the smoke from his cigar with his dull, brown eyes, and answering the first part of Julian’s speech. “No, unfortunately I’ve got an affair in Chelsea to-night, and another in Kensington. But we shall meet to-morrow night at the Bracondales’, I suppose?” “Of course,” assented Julian eagerly. “That will be capital!” There was a moment’s pause, broken by Loring with a reference to a political opinion formulated by one of the other men at dinner; and a talk about politics ensued, eager on Julian’s part, cynical and effectively reserved on Loring’s. A political discussion, when the discussers hold the same political faith, has much the same effect in promoting rapid intimacy between men, granted a predisposition towards intimacy on either side, as a discussion of the reigning fashion in dress has with a certain class of women. When Lord Garstin’s dinner-party began to break up, and Loring and Julian rose to take their departure, they parted with a hand-clasp which would have befitted an acquaintanceship three months, rather than three hours old. “Good night,” said Julian. “Awfully pleased to have met you, Loring. See you to-morrow night. My mother will be delighted.” “I shall be delighted,” said Loring. “All right, then. To-morrow night we’ll arrange that look in at the House. Good night.” A few minutes’ talk with Lord Garstin, who had taken a decided fancy to “that charming little woman’s boy,” and Julian was standing on the pavement of St. James’s Street, with that pleasant sense of exhilaration and warmth of heart, which is an attendant, in youth, on the inauguration of a new friendship. It was a night in early May, and a fine, hot day had ended, as evening drew on, in sultry closeness. The clouds had been rolling up steadily, though not a breath of air seemed to be stirring now, and it was evident that a storm was inevitable before long. Julian was hot and excited; he had only a short distance to go; he looked up at the sky and decided--the wish being father to the thought--that it would “hold up for the present,” and that he would walk.