The outer door of the reception-room of Norcott's studio was so arranged that when it opened a chime of bells was rung. Norcott was working silently and industriously and Gilderman was sitting thinking about the nuisance of the impending journey, when suddenly the chime of bells rang out upon the silence of the studio. Presently Norcott's Moorish servant came bringing in a card. Norcott looked at it. "It's Santley Foord, Mr. Gilderman," he said. "Would you like him to come in? He's a very interesting fellow, and it might entertain you." "Santley Foord?" said Gilderman. And then, remembering the name: "Oh yes; he's the fellow who wrote and illustrated those very interesting articles about the West-China _imbroglio_ for the _Mundane Sphere_, is he not?" "Yes, that's the man." "I'd be very glad to meet him," said Gilderman, welcoming any break in the monotony of the sitting. Then Santley Foord came in. He was a lively, brisk little man, with a face burned russet-brown by the sun, a mustache nearly white, and very light, closely cropped gray hair. He had a strong jaw and chin, and his little eyes were as bright and as black as beads and danced and twinkled and were never still for a moment. Norcott introduced Gilderman, who bowed with a manner that was very urbane. Santley Foord was evidently extremely gratified by the introduction. "I was very much interested in your West-China articles," said Gilderman. "It seemed to me that your sketches were strikingly clever, too. That one with the dead bodies lying on the snow and the flock of crows around them and the long line of road cut through the snow and stretching away to the distance against the gray sky impressed me extremely." "I am highly flattered that you should have noticed it, Mr. Gilderman," said Foord. "One can always get a capital effect of snow in reproductive process. And then, I suppose, the subject was very fetching. I stood there in the snow sketching the scene over the back of my Tartar pony, with the sketch-book resting on the saddle, while my two Kalmuck men brewed some tea in a deserted hut at the road-side." Then he began describing incidental scenes connected with the circumstances of the massacre. He talked well, and Gilderman listened much interested. From this subject, at a question from Norcott, the narrator branched out into his experience in a Tartar village. He described his introduction to a fat old Tartar chief, and he mimicked the obese Oriental with an almost startling vividness. Gilderman laughed heartily, and as he did so he registered in his own mind that he would give a man's dinner-party and would ask Santley Foord. It would be very entertaining. How Stirling West would enjoy the fellow.