When this had been done and the litter had been carefully removed, the Sailor chose the volume which had had the most to say to him of late. In fact, it was the book which up till now had meant more to him than any other. Then he sat luxuriously before the fire, bravely determined to forget the world he had left and to envisage the new one opening around him. Two hours passed, whose golden flight it was not for him to heed, when all at once he was brought to earth. "Mr. Ambrose," announced Mr. Paley. "I thought I'd like to see if you had moved in in good shape," said his friend, as he entered briskly and cheerfully. "Sorry I couldn't come with you last night, but I should have been hopelessly late for a very dull dinner party, which might have made it longer for others. What are you reading? Milton?" "It simply takes my head off," said the Sailor. "I almost want to shout and sing. It's another new world to me." "We can all envy any man who enters it," said Edward Ambrose, with his deep laugh. VII Three days later, at the punctual hour of half past four in the afternoon, Mr. Henry Harper was at the threshold of No. 50, Queen Street, Mayfair. He had been at pains to array himself as well as a limited wardrobe allowed, which meant that neatness had been set above fashion. In spite of all he had been through since his glimpse of paradise, the coming of this present hour had been a beacon in his mind. And now as he stood on the doorstep of No. 50, waiting for his echoing summons to be heeded, he felt so nervous that he could hardly breathe. The magic portals of the Fairy Princess were drawn back by another Mr. Portman, a bland and spreading gentleman who bore himself with the same authentic air of chaste magnificence. He took charge of Mr. Harper's coat and hat and then took charge of Mr. Harper himself as though he had clearly expected him. As the young man followed him upstairs to the drawing-room his heart beat with a violence wholly absurd. Mary came forward to greet him as soon as he appeared in the room, her eyes alight, her hand outstretched. It was a reception of pure unstudied friendship. There was only one other person in the large room just then, a lady of quiet, slightly formidable dignity, who was enthroned before a massive silver tea service on a massive silver tray. "Mr. Harper--my mother," said Mary. The young man took the offered hand timidly. The lady of the silver tea service, kindly and smiling though she was, had none of the impulsive accessibility of her daughter. The Sailor knew in a moment that she belonged to another order of things altogether.