and
had a certain pleasure in the ease with which he achieved this feat. It
would not have been so easy a day or two ago.

'Ah, about this awkward affair of yours,' observed Mr. Westlake with
reference to Richard's loss of his employment, of which, as editor of
the Union's weekly paper, he had of course at once been apprised.

'No, not about that. Since then a very unexpected thing has happened to
me.'

The story was once more related, vastly to Mr. Westlake's satisfaction.
Cheerful news concerning his friends always put him in the best of
spirits.

He shook his head, laughing.

'Come, come, Mutimer, this'll never do! I'm not sure that we shall not
have to consider your expulsion from the Union.'

Richard went on to mention the matters of legal routine in which he
hoped Mr. Westlake would serve him. These having been settled--

'I wish to speak of something more important,' he said. 'You take it
for granted, I hope, that I'm not going to make the ordinary use of this
fortune. As yet I've only been able to hit on a few general ideas; I'm
clear as to the objects I shall keep before me, but how best to serve
them wants more reflection. I thought if I talked it over with you in
the first place--'

The door opened, and a lady half entered the room.

'Oh, I thought you were alone,' she remarked to Mr. Westlake. 'Forgive
me!'

'Come in! Here's our friend Mutimer. You know Mrs. Westlake?'

A few words had passed between this lady and Richard in the lecture-room
a few weeks before. She was not frequently present at such meetings,
but had chanced, on the occasion referred to, to hear Mutimer deliver an
harangue.

'You have no objection to talk of your plans? Join our council, will
you?' he added to his wife. 'Our friend brings interesting news.'

Mrs. Westlake walked across the room to the curved window-seat. Her
age could scarcely be more than three- or four-and-twenty; she was very
dark, and her face grave almost to melancholy. Black hair, cut short at
its thickest behind her neck, gave exquisite relief to features of the
purest Greek type. In listening to anything that held her attention her
eyes grew large, and their dark orbs seemed to dream passionately. The
white swan's down at her throat--she was perfectly attired--made the
skin above resemble rich-hued marble, and indeed to gaze at her long was
to be impressed as by the sad loveliness of a supreme work of art. As
Mutimer talked she leaned forward, her el