future of his yearlings that he felt literally none of that common sensation of “not-at-homeishness” which is apt to render individuals in John’s somewhat anomalous position both awkward and uncomfortable. Few men in any rank of life could be pleasanter as a host than the owner of Updown Paddocks. At his hospitable board, the rich and “great,” and even the self-important, “forgot to remember” that they were condescending. A native politeness induced by entire forgetfulness of self placed him on a par with the most exalted, the most fastidious, and the most sensitive. But, above all things, let it be remembered that he was _true_--true to the backbone. The air of the “stable,” as I have before said, had instilled no principles of trickery into John Beacham’s breast, and, as Cecil Vavasour had once been heard to remark, he would as soon expect one of John’s _fillies_ to be capable of entering into a conspiracy to defraud, as that his old friend would in a single instance depart from the strict rules of honour and integrity. * * * * * “Now then, Honor, look sharp; I can’t have any dawdling to-day. When gentlemen come to lunch at the Paddocks, they expect, and so does John, to find everything good. You won’t soil your white hands, that I don’t think likely, with helping in the setting on; but you might gather a few flowers for the beanpots all the same, and if there’s time afterwards you can change your gown afore Mr. Arthur comes. A silk one would look a deal better than that washy muslin. I’m sure John, poor fellow, gave you plenty of smart dresses, and you needn’t begrudge the wearing one of them now and then.”