“I know one does,” answered Bill. “I’ve had it before myself; but never one-tenth as strongly as I feel it here. Besides, that feeling generally dies—after a few minutes: it’s growing stronger and stronger with me every moment I stop in here.” “Then let’s go into the drawing-room,” said our hostess. “I’ve had the card-table put in there.” We followed her and Joan Neilson into the main part of the house; and since neither of the ladies played, for the next two hours we four men bridged. And then, seeing that it was a special occasion, we sat yarning over half-forgotten incidents till the room grew thick with smoke and the two women fled to bed before they died of asphyxiation. Bill, I remember, waxed eloquent on the subject of politicians, with a six weeks’ experience of India, butting in on things they knew less than nothing about; Dick Armytage grew melancholy on the subject of the block in promotion. And then the reminiscences grew more personal, and the whisky sank lower and lower in the tantalus as one yarn succeeded another. At last Jack Drage rose with a yawn and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. “Two o’clock, boys. What about bed?” “Lord! is it really?” Dick Armytage stretched himself. “However, no shooting to-morrow, or, rather, to-day. We might spend the Sabbath dressing Bill up as his nibs in the next room.” A shadow crossed Bill’s face. “I’d forgotten that room,” he said, frowning. “Damn you, Dick!” “My dear old boy,” laughed Armytage, “you surely don’t mind resembling the worthy Sir James! He’s a deuced sight better-looking fellow than you are.” Bill shook his head irritably. “It isn’t that at all,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking of the picture.” He seemed to be on the point of saying something else—then he changed his mind. “Well—bed for master.” We all trooped upstairs, and Jack came round to each of us to see that we were all right. “Breakfast provisionally nine,” he remarked. “Night-night, old boy.” The door closed behind him, and his steps died away down the passage as he went to his own room. · · · · ·