had been repaid, and he had gradually acquired soberer views of life. Perhaps he might be said to have gone to an extreme, indeed, and taken the pledge! He sometimes felt old, and he was still in the thirties. Francis was the younger of the two of late, although he had a boy in the Brigade; but elder sons often kept young very long--it was easy for them, like the way of righteousness to a bishop.... A waiter cast an inquiring glance round the room, and, crossing to the sofa, handed him a card. Heriot read the name with astonishment; he had not seen the man for sixteen years, and even their irregular correspondence had died a natural death. "My dear fellow!" he exclaimed in the hall. "Come inside." In the past, of which he had just been thinking, he and Dick Cheriton had been staunch friends, none the less staunch because Cheriton was some years his senior. Dick had a studio in Howland Street then, and was going to set the Academy on fire. In the meanwhile he wore a yellow necktie, and married madly, and smoked a clay pipe; he could not guarantee that he would be an R.A., but at least he was resolved that he would be a bohemian. He had some of the qualifications for artistic success, but little talent. When he discovered the fact beyond the possibility of mistake, he accepted a relative's offer of a commercial berth in the United States, and had his hair cut. The valedictory supper in the studio, at which he had renounced ambition, and solemnly burned all his canvases that the dealers would not buy, had been a very affecting spectacle. "My dear fellow!" cried Heriot. "Come inside. This is a tremendous pleasure. When did you arrive?" "Came over in the _Germanic_, ten days ago. It _is_ you, then; I saw 'George Heriot' in the Visitors' List, and strolled round on the chance. I scarcely hoped---- How are you, old man? I'm mighty glad to see you--fact!" "You've been here ten days?" "Not here, no; I've only been in Eastbourne a few hours." "You should have looked me up in town." "I tried. Your chambers were shut." "The hall-porter at the Club----" "What club? You forget what an exile I am!" "Have a drink? Well, upon my word, this is very jolly! Sit down; try one of these." "Would you have recognised me?" asked Cheriton, stretching his legs, and lighting the cigar. "You've changed," admitted Heriot; "it's a long time. I've changed too." They regarded each other with a gaze of friendly criticism. Heriot noted with some surprise that the other's appearance savoured little of the American man of business, or of the man of business outside America. His hair, though less disordered than it had been in the Howland Street period, was still rather longer than is customary in the City. It was now grey, and became him admirably. He wore a black velvet jacket, and showed a glimpse of a deep crimson tie. He no longer looked a bohemian, but he had acquired the air of a celebrity. "Have you come home for good, Cheriton?" Cheriton shook his head.