I do, at least, by sight,' answered Burdon. He leaned over to Dr
Porhoet who was sitting opposite, quietly eating his dinner and enjoying
the nonsense which everyone talked. 'Is not that your magician?'

'Oliver Haddo,' said Dr Porhoet, with a little nod of amusement.

The new arrival stood at the end of the room with all eyes upon him. He
threw himself into an attitude of command and remained for a moment
perfectly still.

'You look as if you were posing, Haddo,' said Warren huskily.

'He couldn't help doing that if he tried,' laughed Clayson.

Oliver Haddo slowly turned his glance to the painter.

'I grieve to see, O most excellent Warren, that the ripe juice of the
_aperitif_ has glazed your sparkling eye.'

'Do you mean to say I'm drunk, sir?'

'In one gross, but expressive, word, drunk.'

The painter grotesquely flung himself back in his chair as though he had
been struck a blow, and Haddo looked steadily at Clayson.

'How often have I explained to you, O Clayson, that your deplorable lack
of education precludes you from the brilliancy to which you aspire?'

For an instant Oliver Haddo resumed his effective pose; and Susie,
smiling, looked at him. He was a man of great size, two or three
inches more than six feet high; but the most noticeable thing about
him was a vast obesity. His paunch was of imposing dimensions. His face
was large and fleshy. He had thrown himself into the arrogant attitude
of Velasquez's portrait of Del Borro in the Museum of Berlin; and his
countenance bore of set purpose the same contemptuous smile. He advanced
and shook hands with Dr Porhoet.

'Hail, brother wizard! I greet in you, if not a master, at least a
student not unworthy my esteem.'

Susie was convulsed with laughter at his pompousness, and he turned to
her with the utmost gravity.

'Madam, your laughter is more soft in mine ears than the singing of
Bulbul in a Persian garden.'

Dr Porhoet interposed with introductions. The magician bowed solemnly as
he was in turn made known to Susie Boyd, and Margaret, and Arthur Burdon.
He held out his hand to the grim Irish painter.

'Well, my O'Brien, have you been mixing as usual the waters of bitterness
with the thin claret of Bordeaux?'

'Why don't you sit down and eat your dinner?' returned the other,
gruffly.

'Ah, my dear fellow, I wish I could drive the fact into this head of
yours that rudeness is not synonymous with wit. I shall not have lived in
vain if I teach