“He is an adventurer who has earned his bread by the exercise of his intellect since he was seventeen years of age,” answered De Bergerac. “I have seen his testimonials, signed by the powers of the Parthenée at Villebrumeuse, and I need no man’s attestation of his honour and honesty. You are prejudiced against him, my dear Harold.” “I am prejudiced against all the world except you, Theodore,” replied the master of Greenlands, with some touch of feeling. There was a certain amount of truth in this sweeping assertion. This man, to whom fortune had been so liberal, had of late abandoned himself to a spirit of bitterness that involved all men and all things. But of all things hateful to this weary sybarite, the most hateful was the insolence of youth and hope, the glory of that morning sunshine which must shine on him no more. It may be that in his jaundiced eyes Eustace had seemed to wear his bright young manhood with a certain air of insolence, to blazon the freshness and sunlight of life’s morning before the jaded traveller hastening down the westward-sloping hill that leads to the realms of night. However this was, Mr. Jerningham was evidently disposed to be captious and argumentative on the subject of his friend’s secretary. Theodore de Bergerac, perceiving this, contrived to change the drift o the conversation. He talked of his book; and Mr. Jerningham, who was faintly interested in all literary questions, expressed a really warm interest in this one labour. He talked of old acquaintances, old associations; and the smile of the wanderer brightened with unwonted animation. It was four o’clock when dinner was announced. The two men had been talking so pleasantly, that it was only by the deepening of the afternoon shadows they knew the progress of time. The little dining-room was bright with the light of moderator-lamps on table and sideboard, when Mr. Jerningham and his host entered. Helen stood waiting for them in the soft lamplight, with Eustace Thorburn by her side. “Neither Mr. Thorburn nor I would come into the drawing-room to disturb your talk, papa,” she said. “He has been giving me my Greek lesson by the fire in here, while Sarah laid the cloth. You should see how she stares when we come to the sonorous words. I am sure she thinks we are a little out of our minds. You are to sit opposite papa, if you please, Mr. Jerningham. I hope you won’t dislike dining at this early hour. We generally dine at three; and a really late dinner would have frightened our cook.” “My dear Helen, I have eaten nothing to-day, and am as hungry as a hunter. If you are going to make excuses, it must be for not having given us our dinner at three. How pretty your table looks, with that old Indian bowl of cream-coloured china asters and scarlet geraniums!” “They are from one of the greenhouses at the great house. The gardeners are very good to me, and allow me as many flowers as a like, when our own dear little garden is exhausted.”