charming and bright of course,--indeed the only times in which I was able to partially forget myself and the absurdly increasing importance of my personality in my own esteem, were when she, with her sweet voice and animated manner, brought her wide knowledge of books, men, and things, to bear on the conversation, thus raising it to a higher level than was ever reached by my wife or me. Yet I now and then noticed a certain vague constraint about her,--and her frank eyes had frequently a pained and questioning look of trouble when they rested for any length of time on the enchanting beauty of Sibyl's face and form. I, however, paid little heed to these trifling matters, my whole care being to lose myself more and more utterly in the enjoyment of purely physical ease and comfort, without troubling myself as to what such self-absorption might lead in the future. To be completely without a conscience, without a heart and without sentiment was, I perceived, the best way to keep one's appetite, and preserve one's health;--to go about worrying over the troubles of other people, or put one's self out to do any good in the world, would involve such an expenditure of time and trouble as must inevitably spoil one's digestion,--and I saw that no millionaire or even moderately rich man cares to run the risk of injuring his digestion for the sake of performing a kindness to a poorer fellow-creature. Profiting by the examples presented to me everywhere in society, I took care of _my_ digestion, and was particular about the way in which my meals were cooked and served,--particular too, as to the fashion in which my wife dressed for those meals,--for it suited my supreme humour to see her beauty bedecked as suitably and richly as possible, that I might have the satisfaction of considering her 'points' with the same epicurean fastidiousness as I considered a dish of truffles or specially prepared game. I never thought of the stern and absolute law--"Unto whom much is given, even from him should much be required;"--I was scarcely aware of it in fact,--the New Testament was of all books in the world the most unfamiliar to me. And while I wilfully deafened myself to the voice of conscience,--that voice which ever and anon urged me in vain to a nobler existence,--the clouds were gathering, ready to burst above me with that terrific suddenness such as always seems to us who refuse to study the causes of our calamities, as astonishing and startling as death itself. For we are always more or less startled at death notwithstanding that it is the commonest occurrence known.