on the centre table. He selected one of the monthly magazines, and
choosing a story which neither of them had read, sat down comfortably in
front of the fire, and finished it without interruption and to the
satisfaction of the Picture and himself. The story had made the half
hour pass very pleasantly, and they both commented on it with interest.

"I had an experience once myself something like that," said Stuart, with
a pleased smile of recollection; "it happened in Paris"--he began with
the deliberation of a man who is sure of his story--"and it turned out
in much the same way. It didn't begin in Paris; it really began while we
were crossing the English Channel to--"

"Oh, you mean about the Russian who took you for some one else and had
you followed," said the Picture. "Yes, that was like it, except that in
your case nothing happened."

Stuart took his cigar from between his lips and frowned severely at the
lighted end for some little time before he spoke.

"My dear," he remonstrated, gently, "you mustn't tell me I've told you
all my old stories before. It isn't fair. Now that I'm married, you see,
I can't go about and have new experiences, and I've got to make use of
the old ones."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," exclaimed the Picture, remorsefully. "I didn't mean
to be rude. Please tell me about it. I should like to hear it again,
ever so much. I _should_ like to hear it again, really."

"Nonsense," said Stuart, laughing and shaking his head. "I was only
joking; personally I hate people who tell long stories. That doesn't
matter. I was thinking of something else."

He continued thinking of something else, which was, that though he had
been in jest when he spoke of having given up the chance of meeting
fresh experiences, he had nevertheless described a condition, and a
painfully true one. His real life seemed to have stopped, and he saw
himself in the future looking back and referring to it, as though it
were the career of an entirely different person, of a young man, with
quick sympathies which required satisfying, as any appetite requires
food. And he had an uncomfortable doubt that these many ever-ready
sympathies would rebel if fed on only one diet.

The Picture did not interrupt him in his thoughts, and he let his mind
follow his eyes as they wandered over the objects above him on the
mantle-shelf. They all meant something from the past,--a busy, wholesome
past which had formed habits of thought and action, habits