“A proud, pretty creature she gave promise of being. However, we can’t understand them--the simple creature, man, is no match for the complex creature, woman.” “O Lord, no!” Mr. Shapleigh brought this out with great emphasis, having in mind Mrs. Shapleigh and what he had heard of Skelton’s late wife, who had put the very most effectual barrier he knew against her husband’s marrying again. “But now, Skelton,” continued Mr. Shapleigh, earnestly, “we are looking forward to that something great which you are destined to do. No man I know of--including those fellows Burke and Sheridan--ever gave greater promise than you. By George! I shall never forget to my dying day the state of public feeling after the publication of that first pamphlet of yours. You would have been nominated to Congress by acclamation had you been twenty-one years old.” A flush rose in Skelton’s dark face. That early triumph had been the bugbear of his whole life. “I regard that as a very crude performance,” he said curtly. “It happened to have a peculiar aptness--it struck a particular conjunction. That was the real reason of its success.” “Then do something better,” cried old Tom. “I hope to, some day,” answered Skelton. They were sitting in the embrasure of the library window. It was in a glorious mid-summer, and the trees wore their greenest livery. The bright pink masses of the crape myrtle trees glowed splendidly, and at the foot of the large lawn the broad, bright river ran laughing in the sun. The yellow noonday light fell directly upon Skelton’s face--his olive complexion, his clear-cut features; there was not an uncertain line in his face. His lean, brown, sinewy hand rested on the arm of his chair. Old Tom, facing him, was a complete contrast--a keen-eyed man, for all he was a country squire, his fresh, handsome old face shining above his ruffled shirt-front and nankeen waistcoat. “You’ve got a pretty good array of literary fellows about you,” said old Tom, waving his stick around the library, which not even the July sun could make bright, but which glowed with the sombre beauty that seems to dwell in a true library.