Cats have made their mark on its lawns, and its owner's love of animals was sharply illustrated by the sheep-dog which lay on his feet clad in Turkish slippers. Get up, Blink!” Blink, disturbed by the motion of her master's feet, rose and gazed long into his face. “Look!” said Mr. Lavender, “she has the most beautiful eyes in the world.” At this remark, which appeared to him no saner than the others he had heard—so utterly did he misjudge Mr. Lavender's character—the nephew put down the notebook he had taken out of his pocket, and said: “Has there ever been anything—er—remarkable about your family?” “Indeed, yes,” said Mr. Lavender. “Born of poor but lofty parentage in the city of Rochester, my father made his living as a publisher; my mother was a true daughter of the bards, the scion of a stock tracing its decent from the Druids; her name was originally Jones.” “Ah!” said the nephew Sinkin, writing. “She has often told me at her knee,” continued Mr. Lavender, “that there was a strong vein of patriotism in her family.” “She did not die—in—in——” “No, indeed,” interrupted Mr. Lavender; “she is still living there.” “Ah!” said the nephew. “And your brothers and sisters?” “One of my brothers,” replied Mr. Lavender, with pardonable pride, “is the editor of Cud Bits. The other is a clergyman.” “Eccentric,” murmured the nephew absently. “Tell me, Mr. Lavender, do you find your work a great strain? Does it——” and he touched the top of his head, covered with moist black hair. Mr. Lavender sighed. “At a time like this,” he said, “we must all be prepared to sacrifice our health. No public man, as you know, can call his head his own for a moment. I should count myself singularly lacking if I stopped to consider—er—such a consideration.” “Consider—er—such a consideration,” repeated the nephew, jotting it down. “He carries on,” murmured Mr. Lavender, once more identifying himself with the journal, “grappling with the intricacies of this enormous problem; happy in the thought that nothing—not even reason itself—is too precious to sacrifice on the altar of his duty to his country. The public may rest confident in the knowledge that he will so carry on till they carry him out on his shield.” And aware subconsciously that the interview could go no further than that phrase, Mr. Lavender was silent, gazing up with rather startled eyes. “I see,” said the nephew; “I am very much obliged to you. Is your dog safe?” For Blink had begun to growl in a low and uneasy manner. “The gentlest creature in the world,” replied Lavender, “and the most sociable. I sometimes think,” he went on in a changed voice, “that we have all gone mad, and that animals alone retain the sweet reasonableness which used to be esteemed a virtue in human society. Don't take that down,” he added quickly, “we are all subject to moments of weakness. It was just an 'obiter dictum'.”