n a great journal; but he discoursed with magnificent
vagueness, and could not be brought to answer direct questions. His
attention to the wine was unremittent; he kept his brother's glass
full, nor was Bridget allowed to shirk her convivial duty. At dessert
appeared a third bottle; by this time, Piers was drinking without heed
to results; jovially, mechanically, glass after glass, talking, too, in
a strain of nebulous imaginativeness. There could be little doubt, he
hinted, that one of his Parliamentary friends (John Jacks had been
insensibly multiplied) would give him a friendly lift. A secretaryship
was sure to come pretty quickly, and then, who knew what opening might
present itself! He wouldn't mind a consulship, for a year or two, at
some agreeable place. But eventually--who could doubt it?--he would
enter the House. "Why, of course!" cried Alexander; the outline of his
career was plain beyond discussion. And let him go in strong for Home
Rule. That would be the great question for the next few years, until it
was triumphantly settled. Private information--from a source only to be
hinted at--assured him that Mr. Gladstone (after the recent defeat) was
already hard at work preparing another Bill. Come now, they must drink
Home Rule--"Justice to Ireland, and the world-supremacy of the British
Empire!"--that was his toast. They interrupted their sipping of green
Chartreuse to drink it in brimming glasses of claret.

"We'll drive you to Queen's Gate!" said Alexander, when Piers began to
look at his watch. "No hurry, my boy! The night is young! 'And'"--he
broke into lyric quotation--"'haply the Queen Moon is on her throne,
clustered around with all her starry fays.'--I shall never forget this
dinner; shall you, Biddy? We'll have a song when we get home."

One little matter had to be attended to, the paying of the bill. Having
glanced carelessly at the total, Alexander began to search his pockets.

"Why, hang it!" he exclaimed. "What a fellow I am! Piers, it's really
too absurd, but I shall have to ask you to lend me a sovereign; I can't
make up enough--stupid carelessness! Biddy, why didn't you ask me if
I'd got money?--No, no; just a sovereign, Piers; I have the rest. I'll
pay you back to-morrow morning."

With laughter at such a capital joke, Piers disbursed the coin. Quaint,
comical fellow, this brother of his I He liked him, and was beginning
to like Biddy too.

A cab bore them all to Queen's Gate, Alexander and