The celebrated author was a light-haired, light-complexioned young man of six-and-twenty, with bowed shoulders, a self-satisfied smile, and a pince nez, which he used at times to emphasize his remarks. He evidently possessed conceit sufficient to stock a dozen ordinary men, and lisped out the newest ideas of the day, as promulgated by his college, for he was an Oxford man. Although he was still in his salad days, he had settled, to his own satisfaction, all the questions of life, and therefore adopted a calm superiority which was peculiarly exasperating. Claude, liberal-minded but hot-blooded, had not been five minutes in his company before he was seized with a wild desire to throw him out of the window. Frank Linton inspired that uncharitable feeling in many people. For the moment, Mr. Linton was alone, as his latest worshiper, a raw-boned female of the cab-horse species, had just departed with a fat little painter in quest of refreshment. Therefore, when he turned to greet Claude, he was quite prepared to assume that fatigued self-conscious air, with which he thought fit to welcome new votaries. "Linton, this is Mr. Larcher," said Tait abruptly. "Claude, you see before you the lion of the season." "It is very good of you to say so, Mr. Tait," simpered the lion, in no wise disclaiming the compliment. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Larcher." "And I yours, Mr. Linton, or shall I say Mr. Parver?" "Oh, either name will answer," said the author loftily, "though in town I am known as Parver only." "And in Thorston as Linton," interpolated Tait smartly. "Then your father does not yet know what a celebrated son he has?" "Not yet, Mr. Tait. I intend to tell him next week. I go down to Thorston for that purpose." "Ah! My friend and I will no doubt meet you there. We also seek rural felicity for a month. But now that you have taken London by storm, I suppose you intend to forsake the law for the profits." "Of course I do," replied Linton quickly. "I never cared for the law, and only went into it to please my father." "And now you go into literature to please Miss Paynton." Linton blushed at this home thrust, and being readier with the pen than the tongue, did not know what answer to make. Pitying his confusion, and anxious to arrive at the main object of the interview, Claude interpolated a remark bearing thereon. "Did you find it difficult to work out the plot of your novel, Mr. Linton?" he said, with assumed carelessness. "Oh, not at all! The construction of a plot is second nature with me." "I suppose you and Miss Paynton talked it over together," said Tait artfully. "Well, yes," answered Linton, again falling into confusion; "I found her a good listener." "I presume it was all new to her?" "I think so. Of course she gave me some hints." Evidently Linton was determined to admit nothing, so seeing that Tait's attack was thus repulsed, Claude brought up his reserve forces.