warm; and ever as the heavy steamer forged on its way, the world of blue sea and sky and snow-white hills opened out before them, until some declared at last that in the far north they could make out the Shiant Isles. Now under shelter of the companion-way leading down into the saloon three men were standing, and two of them were engaged in an animated conversation. The third, who was Mr. Hodson, merely looked on and listened, a little amused, apparently. One of the others—a tall, heavy-bearded, north-Highland-looking man—was Mr. Carmichael, a famous estate-agent in London, who had run two or three commissions together as an excuse for this midwinter trip. The third member of the group was Ronald, who was hammering away in his usual dogmatic fashion. ’Pedigree? The pride of having ancestors?’ he was saying. ’Why, there’s not a man alive whose ancestry does not stretch as far back as any other man’s ancestry. Take it any way ye like: if Adam was our grandfather, then we’re all his grandchildren; or if we are descended from a jellyfish or a monkey, the line is of the same length for all of us—for dukes, and kings, and herd-laddies. The only difference is this, that some know the names of their forefathers, and some don’t; and the presumption is that the man whose people have left no story behind them is come of a more moral, useful, sober, hard-working race than the man whose forbears were famous cut-throats in the middle ages, or dishonest lawyers, or king’s favourites. It’s plain John Smith that has made up the wealth of this country; and that has built her ships for her, and defended her, and put her where she is; and John Smith had his ancestors at Cressy and Agincourt as well as the rest—ay, and they had the bulk of the fighting to do, I’ll be bound; but I think none the worse of him because he cannot tell you their names or plaster his walls with coats of arms. However, it’s idle talking about a matter of sentiment, and that’s the fact; and so, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go down into the cabin, and write a couple o’ letters.’ A minute or so after he had disappeared, Mr. Hodson (who looked miserably cold, to tell the truth, though he was wrapped from head to heel in voluminous furs) motioned his companion to come a few yards aside, so that they could talk without fear of being overheard. ’Now,’ said he, in his slow and distinct way, ’now we are alone, I want you to tell me what you think of that young man.’ ’I don’t like his politics,’ was the prompt and blunt answer.