“Well, we'll say nine, anyway. I can't imagine the cause that would get me up earlier. Here!” He turned to the mantel and wrote an invitation upon his card, and handed it to Sewell. “Please give him that from me, and beg him to come. I really want to see him, and if he can't read well enough for this fastidious old gentleman, we'll see what else he can do. Corey tells me he expects Tom on this summer,” he concluded, in dismissal of Lemuel as a topic. “Ah,” said Sewell, putting the card in his pocket, “I'm very glad to hear that.” He had something, but not so much, of the difficulty in overcoming Lemuel's reluctance that he had feared, and on the morning named Lemuel presented himself at the address on Bellingham's card exactly at nine. He had the card in his hand, and he gave it to the man who opened the street door of the bachelors' apartment house where Bellingham lived. The man read it carefully over, and then said, “Oh yes; second floor,” and, handing it back, left Lemuel to wander upstairs alone. He was going to offer the card again at Bellingham's door, but he had a dawning misgiving. Bellingham had opened the door himself, and, feigning to regard the card as offered by way of introduction, he gave his hand cordially, and led him into the cozy room, where the table was already laid for breakfast. “Glad to see you, glad to see you, Mr. Barker. Give me your coat. Ah, I see you scorn the effeminacy of half-season things. Put your hat anywhere. The advantage of bachelors' quarters is that you _can_ put anything anywhere. We haven't a woman on the premises, and you can fancy how unmolested we are.” Lemuel had caught sight of one over the mantel, who had nothing but her water-colours on, and was called an “Etude;” but he no longer trembled, for evil or for good, in such presences. “That's one of those Romano-Spanish things,” said Bellingham, catching the direction of his eye. “I forget the fellow's name; but it isn't bad. We're pretty snug here,” he added, throwing open two doors in succession, to show the extent of his apartment. “Here you have the dining-room and drawing-room and library in one; and here's my bedroom, and here's my bath.” He pulled an easy-chair up toward the low fire for Lemuel. “But perhaps you're hot from walking? Sit wherever you like.” Lemuel chose to sit by the window. “It's very mild out,” he said, and Bellingham did not exact anything more of him. He talked at him, and left Lemuel to make his mental inventory of the dense Turkey rugs on the slippery hardwood floor, the pictures on the Avails, the deep, leather-lined seats, the bric-a-brac on the mantel, the tall, coloured chests of drawers in two corners, the delicate china and quaint silver on the table. Presently steps were heard outside, and Bellingham threw open the door as he had to Lemuel, and gave a hand to each of the two guests whom he met on his threshold.