“Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part—” “I had reference to the penitentiary,” said Geoffrey. “Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in the penitentiary. You don’t admit that, I suppose, with your conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other great creative artist,—sculptor or financier. I see you don’t quite get that. You are hemmed in by conventional standards, and your possessions, and all the things to which you attach such great importance.” “I don’t attach so much importance that I steal them from other people,” said Geoffrey. “Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything stealing from some one or other? Of course. But I see you don’t catch the idea. Well, I dare say I would not either in your place—rather think I would not. My sister is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in her own way, but philistine. She is so good as to be my companion, apparently on equal terms, in many ways my superior, but it would be impossible for me even to mention these ideas to her,—ideas which are of the greatest interest to me.” “I wonder,” said Geoffrey, “how much of all this rubbish you believe?” McVay smiled with great sweetness. “I wonder myself, Holland. Still it is undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,—a hard life too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a coincidence as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year.” “It was scarcely a coincidence. I came—” “Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister’s things, but still, if you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it _was_ a coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt action. Nine men out of ten in your place—still, I’m not depressed. You cannot say, Holland, that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years of hard labour before him, can you? I dare say you have never been thrown with a person who showed less anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, there is something preying on my mind. Something entirely aside from anything you could imagine.” “You don’t tell me!” said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most amused or infuriated by his companion’s conversation. “I am about to tell you,” said McVay graciously, “I am very seriously worried about my sister. In fact I don’t see that there is any getting away from it; you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get her.” “Let you do _what_?” “Get my sister. She’s living in a little hut in your woods, and I am actually afraid she will be snowed up.” “It seems highly probable.” “Well, then, I must go and get her.” Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: “You must be crazy.”