Brydon guessed the elder man’s thoughts, or perhaps his own were running on the same lines, as he sketched in the strong steady cool face with a breadth of technique that was marvellous in a boy of his age and opportunities. “I wonder myself,” he said, “I don’t make more of my pleasures. A fellow has opportunities somehow,” he added with pleasing diffidence, “no matter how poor he is but I have a sort of notion I might lose in Art what I should gain in pleasure. It would be idiotic to run that risk, wouldn’t it? I have a sort of theory, it’s probably rot though it has a sound of truth about it, that the cleaner one keeps one’s body and soul, the clearer one’s eyes keep and the better able to tackle the truth in Nature.” He paused, a little embarrassed; any expression, even of the most primitive morality, brings a blush of shame to the cheek of youth. “That sounds like a workable theory,” assented Strange, “and upon my word, I believe you will find it so. The opposite is playing the deuce with the modern Italian school, and it strikes one like a blow in a lot of the work of the youngsters there. I would thresh out that theory, if I were you, nothing half and half will do.” “No,” said Brydon ruefully, “no, that is where the grind comes in.” Strange laughed, the fellow’s face and accent fitted his speech so comically. “I suppose I must let him get over the boot business himself, he’s so beastly cocky, but I’m convinced he’s hungry. I wonder how much the jade got out of him! Charlie,” he then said aloud, “I must be off, I shall expect you on Friday at my Club. If I were you, old chap, I should stop that young person’s supplies, the fever must be off her by this time.” “I have a sort of awful conviction that it’s going to be intermittent, and that nothing but a change of address will have any effect upon it—but, oh, old man, if you could have seen that girl,” he concluded regarding her head mournfully, with his own on one side, and with an overwhelming longing for the Egyptian flesh-pots surging up within him. Strange slapped him on the shoulder, “Just as well not, fevers come expensive, whether they take you, or the victim to your charms. Good-bye.” END OF VOL. I. SELECTIONS FROM MESSRS. HUTCHINSON’S LIST. --------------------- _BY W. L. REES._ =The Life and Times of Sir George Grey.= K.C.B. By W. L. REES. With Photogravure Portraits. In demy 8vo. buckram gilt, 2 vols. 32/-. and in one vol. 12/-. The _Daily Telegraph_ (Leader) says:—“A work of extraordinary interest.” _BY DOUGLAS SLADEN._ =The Japs at Home.= With over 50 Full-Page and other Illustrations. Third edition. In demy 8vo. cloth, 6/-. The _Times_ says:—“His notes and impressions make capital reading, and we feel on closing the volume that it is not a bad substitute for a visit to Japan.”