“You have been too hard upon him, doctor,” whispered Karstairs, as he walked along at Layton's side. “You should be more careful; he is a man of note on the other side of the Channel; he was a Treasury Lord for some six months once, and is always in office somewhere. I see you are rather sorry for this yourself.” “Sorry! I 'm sorry to leave that glorious Madeira, which I know I shall never taste again,” said Layton, sternly. “Are you a smoker, Dr. Layton?” said the host. “If so, don't forget this house gives all a bachelor's privileges. Try these cheroots.” “Liberty Hall!” chimed in the Colonel, with a vacant laugh. “Not a bad name for your dining-room, Millar,” said Ogden, bitterly. A slight shrug was the parson's answer. “Is this man a frequent guest here?” he asked again, in a low whisper. “It is his first time. I need scarcely say, it shall be his last,” replied Millar, as cautiously. “I felt for you, Millar. I felt what pain he must have been giving you, though, for myself, I pledge you my word it was most amusing; his violence, his presumption, the dictatorial tone in which he affirmed his opinions, were high comedy. I was half sorry when you proposed coffee.” Under pretence of admiring some curiously carved chessmen, Karstairs had withdrawn the doctor into a small room adjoining; but, in reality, his object was the friendly one of suggesting greater caution and more reserve on his part. “I don't say,” whispered he,--“I don't say that you were n't right, and he wrong in everything. I know nothing about false quantities in Latin, or German metaphysics, or early Christian art. You may be an authority in all of them. All I say is, _he_ is a great Government official, and _you_ are a village doctor.”