The parlour was a quaint, low-ceilinged room, all angles, with queer cupboards and unnecessary alcoves in unexpected places, heavy, black oak furniture, baskets of wax fruits and paper flowers, a small harmonium in one corner and a general air of intense cleanliness and comfort. Dismissing Margery, Dr. Nestley made an excellent supper from a round of corned beef, but pushing away the tankard of ale which stood near him, he filled a glass with water and drank it off. His meal being ended he lighted his pipe, and drawing his chair up to the fire, with a sigh of gratitude, gave himself up to his reflections. The lamp shone with a dim, yellow light, but the ruddy glare of the fire lighted up the room and gleamed on the polished furniture and plaster ceiling. Truly a pleasant place to dream in, but judging by the frown upon Nestley's face his thoughts were anything but agreeable, for as a matter of fact he was thinking about Basil Beaumont. Whether a sympathetic feeling or a vein of animal magnetism drew the subject of his reflections towards him it is hard to say, but in a very short time the door was pushed silently open and Mr. Beaumont, cool and complacent, sauntered into the room. This unwelcomed intruder walked across to the fireplace and, leaning against the mantelpiece, looked down at the indignant Nestley with a bland smile. "Enjoyed your supper?" he asked coolly, removing his cigarette. "None the better for seeing you," growled the doctor, drawing hard at his pipe. "Our excellent Duncan," observed Mr. Beaumont, airily, "is rather cross." At which impertinent observation Nestley began to show anger. "What right have you to come into this room?" he asked savagely. "The best right in the world," retorted Basil, smoothly. "It is a public room; I am one of the public--ergo, I use it." Dr. Nestley frowned again, and his rather weak mouth quivered nervously as he looked at the placid countenance of the man leaning against the mantelpiece. On his part, Beaumont slipped his hands into his pockets, crossed his long legs and, after glancing curiously at the figure cowering in the arm-chair began to talk in a delicately-modulated voice, which was one of his greatest charms. "We were friends five years ago, Nestley, yet now we meet as enemies. I am not, as a rule, curious; but I confess I would like to know the reason." "You know well enough," said Nestley, sulkily. "Ah! Let me see. I think in the road to-night you accused me of ruining your life. Pray tell me how--I don't think," observed Mr. Beaumont, reflectively, "I really don't think I borrowed money from you." Dr. Nestley removed his pipe, and put his hand up to hide the nervous quivering of his mouth. The artist went on smoking placidly, waiting for the other to speak, so seeing this, Nestley, with a great effort, sat up in his chair and looked steadily at him. "Listen to me, Basil Beaumont," he said, slowly. "Five years ago, when I met you, I was only a boy----"