"I think not--merely impertinence," answered Guy Strangways. "You are right--it is nothing to him. I do not know that even Marlowe has a suspicion. Absolutely impertinence." And upon this M. Varbarriere began to smoke again with resolution and energy. "You understand, Guy; you may be as polite as you please--but no friendship--nowhere--you must remain quite unembarrassed." Here followed some more smoke, and after it the question-- "What do you think of the young lady, Mademoiselle Marlowe?" "She sings charmingly, and for the rest, I believe she is agreeable; but my opportunities have been very little." "What do you think of our fellow Jacque--is he trustworthy?" "Perfectly, so far as I know." "You never saw him peep into letters, or that kind of thing?" "Certainly not." "There is a theory which must be investigated, and I should like to employ him. You know nothing against him, nor do I." "Suppose we go to our beds?" resumed the old gentleman, having finished his cigar. A door at either side opened from the dressing-room, by whose fire they had been sitting. "See which room is meant for me--Jacque will have placed my things there." The young man did as he was bid, and made his report. "Well, get you to bed, Guy, and remember--no friendships and no follies." And so the old man rose, and shook his companion's hand, not smiling, but with a solemn and thoughtful countenance, and they separated for the night. Next morning as the Rev. Dives Marlowe stood in his natty and unexceptionable clerical costume on the hall-door steps, looking with a pompous and, perhaps, a somewhat forbidding countenance upon the morning prospect before him, his brother joined him. "Early bird, Dives, pick the worm--eh? Healthy and wise already, and wealthy to be. Slept well, eh?" "Always well here," answered the parson. He was less of a parson and more like himself with Jekyl than with anyone else. His brother was so uncomfortably amused with his clerical airs, knew him so well, and so undisguisedly esteemed him of the earth earthy, that the cleric, although the abler as well as the better read man, always felt invariably a little sheepish before him, in his silk vest and single-breasted coat with the standing collar, and the demi-shovel, which under other eyes he felt to be imposing properties. "You look so like that exemplary young man in Watt's hymns, in the old-fashioned toggery, Dives--the fellow with the handsome round cheeks, you know, piously saluting the morning sun that's rising with a lot of spokes stuck out of it, don't you remember?" "I look like something that's ugly, I dare say," said the parson, who had not got up in a good temper. "There never was a Marlowe yet who hadn't ugly points about him. But a young man, though never so ugly, is rather a bold comparison--eh? seeing I'm but two years your junior, Jekyl."