s to wait."
young Rainer urged, in the tone that dispels scruples by ignoring them;
and Faxon found himself accepting the invitation as simply as it was
offered.

A delay in the arrival of the New York train lengthened their five
minutes to fifteen; and as they paced the icy platform Faxon began to
see why it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to accede to
his new acquaintance's suggestion. It was because Frank Rainer was
one of the privileged beings who simplify human intercourse by the
atmosphere of confidence and good humour they diffuse. He produced this
effect, Faxon noted, by the exercise of no gift but his youth, and of no
art but his sincerity; and these qualities were revealed in a smile of
such sweetness that Faxon felt, as never before, what Nature can achieve
when she deigns to match the face with the mind.

He learned that the young man was the ward, and the only nephew, of John
Lavington, with whom he had made his home since the death of his mother,
the great man's sister. Mr. Lavington, Rainer said, had been "a regular
brick" to him--"But then he is to every one, you know"--and the young
fellow's situation seemed in fact to be perfectly in keeping with his
person. Apparently the only shade that had ever rested on him was cast
by the physical weakness which Faxon had already detected. Young Rainer
had been threatened with tuberculosis, and the disease was so far
advanced that, according to the highest authorities, banishment to
Arizona or New Mexico was inevitable. "But luckily my uncle didn't pack
me off, as most people would have done, without getting another opinion.
Whose? Oh, an awfully clever chap, a young doctor with a lot of new
ideas, who simply laughed at my being sent away, and said I'd do
perfectly well in New York if I didn't dine out too much, and if I
dashed off occasionally to Northridge for a little fresh air. So it's
really my uncle's doing that I'm not in exile--and I feel no end better
since the new chap told me I needn't bother." Young Rainer went on to
confess that he was extremely fond of dining out, dancing and similar
distractions; and Faxon, listening to him, was inclined to think that
the physician who had refused to cut him off altogether from these
pleasures was probably a better psychologist than his seniors.

"All the same you ought to be careful, you know." The sense of
elder-brotherly concern that forced the words from Faxon made him, as he
spoke, slip his ar