“You are a social subject, though, to invite to dinner. I should fancy Mr. George Taylor was thinking so.” Mr. George Taylor appeared to be thinking of something that rendered him somewhat mentally disturbed, in point of fact his duties as host were considerably broken into by listening at the door; above the conversation, the clatter of plates, the drawing of corks, his ear was alive, hoping for the knock which would announce Mr. Bell. It was, of course, strange that he neither came nor sent, but no knock seemed to come and George could only rally his powers and forget him. It was a recherche repast. George Taylor’s state dinners always were; no trouble or expense was spared at them; luxuries in season and out of season were there; the turtle would seem richer at his table than any other, the venison more than venison, the turkeys had a sweeter flavor, the sparkling champagne was of the rarest vintage, the dinner this day did not disgrace its predecessors and the guests seemed to enjoy themselves to the utmost in spite of the absence of Mr. Bell and Mr. Feathersmith’s prognostications thereon. The evening was drawing on, and some of the gentlemen were solacing themselves with a cup of coffee, when the butler slipped a note into George’s hand. “The man is waiting for an answer, sir,” he whispered. George glided out of the room and read it, so fully impressed was he that it came from Mr. Bell explaining the cause of his absence that he had to read it twice over before he could take in the fact that it was not from him; it was few lines in pencil from the popular hotel and running as follows: “Dear George, I am not feeling well and have stopped here on my journey, call at once or I shall be gone to bed, Adam Miller.” One burning desire had hung over George all the evening that he could run up to Bell’s, and learn the cause of his absence. His absence in itself would not in the least have troubled George, but he had a most urgent reason for wishing to see him, hence his anxiety. To leave his guests to themselves would have been scarcely the thing, but this note appeared to afford just the excuse wanting, at any rate he determined to make it the excuse. “A messenger brought this, I suppose,” he said to the butler. “Yes, sir.” “My compliments and I will be with Mr. Miller directly.” George went into the room again, intending to proclaim his proposed absence and plead Mr. Miller’s illness which he would put up in a strong light as his justification for the inroad upon good manners a sudden thought came over him that he would only tell Charles. George drew him aside, “Charles, you be host for me for half an hour,” he whispered. “Mr. Miller has just sent me an urgent summons to come and see him at the hotel; he was passing through here and was compelled to stop for sickness.” “Won’t to-morrow morning do?” asked Charles. “No, I will be back before they have time to miss me, if they do miss me, say it is