From the very first evening in his new quarters reconstruction began. An air of ordered calm seemed to pervade the carefully laundered pillow as he laid his head on it that night. He was miserably weary, for one thing, but his physical state was not alone the cause of his sleeping in a way that had not been possible at No. 106, King John's Mansions, in all the months he had known it. Somehow, that sleep in those clean sheets, in that well-aired room, seemed to be the prelude to a new phase of being. It was Sunday morning when the Sailor awoke. The first thing he knew was that the noiseless Mr. Paley was in the room, that he had placed a tiny tray on a small table at the side of his bed, that he had said, in his discreet voice, "Eight o'clock, sir," and that he was now in the act of drawing up the blinds and letting in the light of February. "Do you desire a warm bath or a cold, sir?" It might have been Portman himself who was asking that considered question. "Cold, please," said the Sailor, rubbing his eyes with a feeling of pleasure. Mr. Paley spread a mat and then produced from a chastely curtained recess a large, yellow-painted bath. Shortly afterwards, he evolved two cans of water from outside the bedroom door. "Your bath is quite ready, sir." "Thank you. Much obliged." The Sailor sprang out of bed. Yes, it was another new world he had entered. Half an hour later, he had descended to the dining-room, feeling perhaps a stronger and more composed man than he had ever been in his life. A well cooked rasher and two poached eggs and crisp toast and butter and the best Oxford marmalade awaited him. He sat near the pleasant fire, with his back to the enlarged photograph of the late Sir O'Gorman Price, K.C.M.G., the last portrait taken by Messrs. Barrett and Filmer, of Regent Street, and at Brighton, before the country and the empire endured its irreparable loss. He ate steadily for twenty minutes by the marble and ormulu clock in the center of the chimney piece, presented by the Honorable Lady Price (a daughter of Lord Vesle and Voile) in recognition of the faithful and valued service of Miss Martha Handcock, on the occasion of her marriage with Mr. Emerson Paley. He also contrived to hold a brief conversation with Mr. Emerson Paley in regard to the weather. In a word, the Sailor's first breakfast in Brinkworth Street was a memorable affair. After his meal, beginning to feel more and more his own man, and with this new world of order, of respect for established things, unfolding itself around him, he proceeded to unpack the books which the surprisingly efficient member of Messrs. Mortimer's staff had collected in three large parcels. He felt a little thrill of delight as he laid out carefully each beloved volume on the well polished writing table with its green baize top, and then arranged them with precision and delicacy on a row of empty shelves that had been freshly papered to receive them.