"Yes--no." I think he would have liked it, but he probably remembered whose tea it was. "No," he repeated, with decision. He breathed heavily, with short, puffy gasps. I recalled then that Mrs. Brokenshire had said that his heart had been affected. As a matter of fact, he put his gloved left hand up to it, as people do who feel something giving way within. To relieve the embarrassment of the situation I said: "I could turn on all the lights and you could see the library without going round it." Withdrawing the hand at his heart, he raised it in the manner with which I was familiar. "Sit down," he commanded, as sternly as his shortness of breath allowed. The companion William and Mary chair being near, I slipped into it. Having him in three-quarters profile, I could study him without doing it too obviously, and could verify Mrs. Brokenshire's statements that Hugh's affairs were "telling on him." He was perceptibly older, in the way in which people look older all at once after having long kept the semblance of youth. The skin had grown baggy, the eyes tired; the beard and mustache, though as well cared for as ever, more decidedly mixed with gray. It was indicative of something that had begun to disintegrate in his self-esteem, that when his poor left eye screwed up he turned the terrifying right one on me with no effort to conceal the grimace. As it was for him to break the silence, I waited in my huge ornamental chair, hoping he would begin. "What are you doing here?" The voice had lost none of its soft staccato nor of its whip-lash snap. "I'm Mr. Grainger's librarian," I replied, meekly. "Since when?" he panted. "Since not long after I left Mrs. Rossiter." He took his time to think another question out. "How did your employer come to know about you?" I explained, as though he had had no knowledge of the fact, that Mrs. Rossiter had employed for her boy, Brokenshire, a tutor named Strangways. This Mr. Strangways had attracted Mr. Grainger's attention by some articles he had written for the financial press. An introduction had followed, after which Mr. Grainger had engaged the young man as his secretary. Hearing that Mr. Grainger had need of a librarian, Mr. Strangways had suggested me. I could see suspicion in the way in which he eyed me as well as in his words. "Had you no other recommendation?" "No, sir," I said, simply, "none that Mr. Grainger ever told me of." He let that pass. "And what do you do here?" "I show the library to visitors. If any one wishes a particular book, or to look at engravings, I help him to find what he wants." I thought it well to keep up the fiction that he had come as a sight-seer. "If you'd care to go over the place now, sir--" His hand went up in a majestic waving aside of this courtesy. "And have you many visitors to the--to the library?" Though I saw the implication, I managed to elude it. "Yes, sir, taking one day with another. It depends a little on the weather and the time of year."