“What have you been doing since I saw you?” Godfrey inquired as they took their places in the dog-cart. “Repairing the ravages of time and Continental travel,” Victor replied, somewhat ambiguously. Then he added politely: “I hope Miss Devereux is well?” “Very well, indeed,” said Godfrey, “and most anxious to see you. She has read your poems and has seen your portrait; all she requires now is to be introduced to the original.” “In that case I fear she will be disappointed,” said Victor, with what was almost a sneer in his voice. “Since she is with you, I presume your mother and sister are at the Hall. Do they look forward to the idea of turning out?” “They are a pair of foolish women who would do anything, or give up anything in order to make me happy,” the other replied. “As a matter of fact, I don’t know that they altogether mind. They both prefer London, and when they return from their travels, I believe it is their intention to take a flat and settle down somewhere in the neighbourhood of Kensington.” “While you are assimilating the bucolic virtues. Well, it’s a pretty picture, and if I had fifteen thousand a year and a fine estate I might be tempted to do the same. As I haven’t the money or the property I remain what I am.” “And that is?” “A trifler,” Victor replied, with unusual bitterness. “One who might have done and who did not--who dropped the substance in an attempt to grasp the shadow.” “Nonsense,” said Godfrey, who did not like to hear his friend abuse himself in this fashion. “If you are going to talk like that I shall have to prescribe a long dose of country air.” Then, in an attempt to change the other’s thoughts, he talked of their travels together, and of the curious characters they had met, which lasted until they had passed through the lodge gates and were well on their way across the park. Even in the sombreness of winter the place looked very beautiful, and Victor expressed himself delighted with it. “I had no idea it was so fine,” he said, as they swept round the drive and came into view of the house. “I can very well understand your liking for a country life when you possess an estate like this. Your uncle did you a kind action when he made you his heir.” “Nobody is more sensible of that fact than I am,” Godfrey replied. “I only wish I could let the old fellow know how grateful I am. I often think that during his lifetime he was disappointed in me because I took to painting instead of becoming a country gentleman. I wonder what he would say if he could see me now? I don’t know what you may think, but to my mind there are times when one likes to imagine that the dead are near us.” Victor gave a violent start, followed by a shiver. “Good Heavens! What an idea!” he cried. Then, dropping back into his old cynical tone, he continued: “I am afraid that if your idea were possible our human affairs would become somewhat complicated. For my own part I am quite content that the matter should stand as it is.”