"I have cloaked myself with the reputation of a gossip," he told her, "to hide my greater sins of serious reading and amateur scribbling. A literary man must be successful from the most worldly point of view, to be considered with any leniency by his friends. So I keep dark, and enjoy myself and the respect of--of the people we know. When I was younger, I was not so wise." "I have heard about it," returned Molly, "and I always liked you for it. But I think you were a coward to give it up just as soon as you came in for money." Mr. Pollin smiled somewhat sadly. "I was never anything more than a dabbler. That is my only excuse for shunning the muse in public," he replied. "But here we are at the door of my humble habitation." "I have seen the door before. It looks very nice," remarked Molly. "On the other side of that door," said Mr. Pollin, standing still and surveying the oak, "are two hundred and odd rare volumes, and three times as many more or less common ones,--also some easy chairs, and a man-servant capable of producing a modest luncheon." "And cigarettes?" asked Miss Travers. The gentleman gave her a look of pained inquiry. "For you, my dear girl?" he queried. "I have not smoked a cigarette for years," she replied, "but I learned how--oh, long ago." "I have some excellent cigarettes," rejoined Mr. Pollin, kindly, as he fitted his latch-key in the door. Molly found that, for a poor bachelor, her uncle lived very comfortably. She really did not see how one man and his valet could use so many rooms. The library was a charming place, walled with shelves of books, and warmed and brightened by a glowing fire. The floor had no carpet, but was thickly strewn with rugs. The chairs were of modern pattern and wicker ware, built for comfort rather than for looks. The big writing-table had books, magazines, and manuscripts scattered over it. Mr. Pollin rang for his man, who appeared on the instant. "My niece, Miss Travers, will lunch with me," he said. "Very good, sir," replied the man, and hesitated at the door. "Well, Scanlan?" inquired his master. "General Davidson, sir,--and the lady, sir,--will that be hall?" "Good Lord!" exclaimed Mr. Pollin, "I'd forgotten the general. You don't mind old Davidson, do you, Molly?" "I'm sure I do not know. I have never met him," replied Molly. "That will be all," said Mr. Pollin to the man, and, as soon as the door closed, he turned to Molly and said: "Now, my dear, we have just an hour before that old bore Davidson, with his everlasting plans of battles, gets here, so we had better make the most of our time." He stirred the fire, and then seated himself close to his niece. He looked at her nervously, and several times opened his mouth as if to speak, but always seemed to think better of it before he had made a sound. "Why, what on earth is the matter?" cried Miss Travers, staring with wide eyes.