“How do you like your new quarters?” he asked, as they sat down. “Very well,” said Despard. “It is more my home, you know, than any other place. I lived there so many years as school-boy with Mr. Carson that it seems natural to take up my station there as home.” Mr. Thornton relapsed into his abstraction while Despard was speaking, who directed the remainder of his conversation to Mrs. Thornton. It was light, idle chat, in the same tone as that in which they had before indulged. Once or twice, at some unusually extravagant remark, Mr. Thornton looked up in perplexity, which was not lessened on seeing their perfect gravity. They had a long discussion as to the meaning of the phrase “the day after to-morrow.” Despard asserted that it meant the same as eternal duration, and insisted that it must be so, since when to-morrow came the day after it was still coming, and when that came there was still the day after. He supported his theory with so much earnestness that Thornton, after listening for a while, took the trouble to go heavily and at length into the whole question, and conclude it triumphantly against Despard. Then the subject of politics came up, and a probable war with France was considered. Despard professed to take no interest in the subject, since, even if an invasion took place, clergymen could do nothing. They were exempt from military duty in common with gaugers. The mention of this brought on a long discussion as to the spelling of the word gauger. Despard asserted that nobody knew how it was spelled, and that, from the necessities of human nature, it was simply impossible to tell whether it was _gauger_ or _guager_. This brought out Thornton again, who mentioned several law papers in which the word had been correctly written by his clerks. Despard challenged him on this, and, because Thornton had to confess that he had not examined the word, dictionary in hand, he claimed a victory over him. Thornton, at this, looked away, with the smile of a man who is talking unintelligible things to a child. Then followed a long conversation between Despard and Mrs. Thornton about religion, art, music, and a miscellaneous assemblage of other things, which lasted for a long time. At length he rose to go. Mrs. Thornton went to a side-table and took up a book. “Here,” said she, “is the little book you lent me; I ought to have sent it, but I thought you would come for it.” “And so I will,” said he, “some day.” “Come for it to-morrow.” “Will you be at home?” [Illustration: “MRS. THORNTON, WALKING TO THE WINDOW, LOOKED OUT.”] “Yes.” “Then of course I’ll come. And now I must tear myself away. Good-night!” On the following day, at about two o’clock, Despard called again. Mrs. Thornton had been writing, and the desk was strewn with papers. “I know I am disturbing you,” said he, after the usual greetings. “I see that you are writing, so I will not stay but a moment. I have come, you know, after that little book.”