“I’ve been telling him all about you,” she went on confidentially. “How good you are at making beds.” “Making beds!” he cried. “Why don’t you use longer words? You should call me a celebrated physician, then people would respect me.” “Well, I was only repeating what mother said.” “She told you that a long time ago. It’s time you were advancing. Making beds! Well, I never thought you would have given me away like that, Sunbeam.” She only laughed, as did Moonbeam, and they stood with their arms round each other lovingly. “Well, now, tell me something of Genius that is plebeian and paltry. I feel such an undeniable jealousy rising within me that I shall not be able to battle with it long,” observed Philemon. “I’ve only known him since yesterday, so I can’t tell you anything,” returned Sunbeam. “You said he was your brother.” “He’s my brother-in-law.” “Vestasian?” said Philemon, and stepped back so quickly, and cast such a sharp, piercing eye on me, that I wondered, and then felt some explanation might be needed. “It is a purely imaginary relationship,” I remarked. “I am neither Sunbeam’s brother nor her brother-in-law, neither am I Vestasian.” “I did not catch your name,” he hinted. “They call me Genius.” “But what do you call yourself?” “I don’t know that I ever gave two serious thoughts to it.” “Indeed!” he exclaimed, and then moved away, taking Sunbeam and Moonbeam along with him. The antics of youth had evidently developed into the peculiarity of years, because during the remainder of the evening he watched me most attentively and persistently. A little later I found him in earnest conversation with Virginius, in which he seemed to be trying to insist upon Virginius seeing things in the same light as himself, but the latter was listening with incredulous amusement, and left him laughing. That night after dinner, when he and I were alone together, he began,— “Philemon notices a strong resemblance between you and Vestasian—so strong that he persists in saying you are he.” “Oh, Lord!” I groaned. “What did you say?” “I said ‘Oh, Lord!’ But by that I meant to convey the impression that it is very distasteful to be so mistaken. Surely in heaven there is peace from muddle.” “I don’t know. You began it, so doubtless it may continue.” “But I never let my ambition soar so high as to touch him. Moreover, till very recently I had never seen him.” “Well,” said Virginius, “I don’t know, now that it has been mentioned to me, but that I can detect a likeness.” “So can I detect one between you and Plucritus.” He laughed. “Have a smoke,” he suggested, “You will find that pleasure counteracts irritation.” After a pause he continued,— “Did you see much of Vestasian whilst in hell?” “Very little, till near the end.” “And what was your opinion of him?” “At the time I distrusted, yet liked him. Looking backward I regret I saw so little of him.” “He took the trouble to be agreeable, then?”