f the nobleman
suddenly dilated and he started.

"B'Jove!" he exclaimed, his gaze following the retreating figure.

"What is it?" Sir Charles looked around. "Recall where you thought you
saw him?"

Lord Ronsdale did not at once answer and Sir Charles repeated his
question; the nobleman mechanically raised his hand to his face. "Yes; a
mere fugitive resemblance," he answered rather hurriedly. "Some
one--you--you never met. Altogether quite a different sort of person,
don't you know!" regaining his drawl.

"Well," observed Sir Charles, "fugitive resemblances will happen!"

* * * * *

CHAPTER III

A LESSON IN BOTANY

John Steele was rather late in arriving at the house of Sir Charles Wray
in Piccadilly the following Thursday. But nearly every one else was
late, and, perhaps knowing the fashionable foible, he had purposely held
back to avoid making himself conspicuous by being prompt. The house, his
destination, was not unlike other dwellings on that historic
thoroughfare; externally it was as monotonous as the average London
mansion. The architect had disdained any attempt at ornamentation. As if
fearful of being accused of emulating his brother-in-art across the
channel, he had put up four walls and laid on a roof; he had given the
front wall a slightly outward curve. In so doing, he did not reason why;
he was merely following precedent that had created this incomprehensible
convexity.

But within, the mansion made a dignified and at the same time a pleasant
impression. John Steele, seated at the rear of a spacious room, where he
a few moments later found himself among a numerous company, looked
around on the old solid furnishings, the heavy rich curtains and those
other substantial appurtenances to a fine and stately town house. That
funereal atmosphere common to many homes of an ancient period was,
however, lacking. The observer felt as if some recent hand, the hand of
youth, had been busy hereabouts indulging in light touches that relieved
and gladdened the big room. Hues, soft and delicate, met the eye here
and there; rugs of fine pattern favored the glance, while tapestries of
French workmanship bade it wander amid scenes suggestive of Arcadia.
Many found these innovations to their liking; others frowned upon them;
but everybody flocked to the house.

The program on the present occasion included a poet and a woman
novelist. The former, a Preraphaelite, led his heare