The radiation from these wedded hearts soothed and brightened the current of the time; and when on that evening the ladies rose to leave, George Osborne felt puzzled, confounded. He had often in his mind pictured the home of a man holding views such as Parkinson's. He had fancied a cold, dark, dreary abode, with diagrams on the walls, and blasphemies at the table. He had seen the master of that household morose and savage to all around him--a man who, no longer restrained by fear outside the law of the land or public opinion, gave free scope to all the evil influences of his nature, and laid at once the foundation for the destruction of domestic peace. He had entered this house with the conviction that he should be shocked at a hundred things. So far he had been edified. Eight years they had been married, and obviously they had never been such good friends as to-day. They betrayed the tenderness of the betrothed combined with the security of the married. Their house and all in it were bright and cheerful and comfortable--such a house as he might hope to have one day. Their children were intelligent in speech and manner, and not either forward or bashful, but just well-bred. During dinner a good deal of the talk had gone on between Marie and her old friend. Mr Parkinson spoke chiefly to Kate, and George spoke least of all, except Kate. Now, for the first time, the two men found themselves alone together. Parkinson offered Osborne a cigar. The latter explained that he did not smoke. 'Ah, not smoke!' said Parkinson. 'Neither did I until lately. I find tobacco most useful.' 'Intellectually or physically?' asked Osborne, who still felt the great weight of surprise, but was now quite free from anything like apprehension. What was there in this pleasant room and this agreeable gentleman to affright or even disturb anyone? Nothing. 'Well,' said the other, explaining, as he lit a cigar, and threw himself into a comfortable easy-chair, 'I don't like to say intellectually, for that would sound pretentious. I don't think I have what anyone would call an intellect. I have certain aptitudes in small things, certain ways of treating detail, that to those who do not follow my course of reading may seem to show intellect; but intellect proper I have none. What I should say with regard to the effect of tobacco on myself is that it subducates the physical man, and gives freer and more unobserved play to the operations of the mind.' 'You will excuse me,' said Osborne, looking with curiosity at his companion, 'but I understood you followed science as a pursuit?' 'Yes, but in a very unambitious way. I gathered from what passed at dinner that you are interested in poetry. Pray, may I ask, have you ever written any yourself?' George coloured slightly. 'I take a great interest in poetry, but have unfortunately no talent or ability to write it, nor have I ever tried to write any.'