hen a man saw her he must long
to see her again, and there were the same chances that such an one as
Mount Dunstan might long also, and, if Fate was against him, long with
a bitter strength. Selden was not aware that he had spoken more fully of
Mount Dunstan and his place than of other things. That this had been the
case, had been because Mr. Vanderpoel had intended it should be so. He
had subtly drawn out and encouraged a detailed account of the time
spent at Mount Dunstan vicarage. It was easily encouraged. Selden's
affectionate admiration for the vicar led him on to enthusiasm. The
quiet house and garden, the old books, the afternoon tea under the
copper beech, and the long talks of old things, which had been so new to
the young New Yorker, had plainly made a mark upon his life, not likely
to be erased even by the rush of after years.

"The way he knew history was what got me," he said. "And the way you got
interested in it, when he talked. It wasn't just HISTORY, like you learn
at school, and forget, and never see the use of, anyhow. It was things
about men, just like yourself--hustling for a living in their way, just
as we're hustling in Broadway. Most of it was fighting, and there are
mounds scattered about that are the remains of their forts and camps.
Roman camps, some of them. He took me to see them. He had a little old
pony chaise we trundled about in, and he'd draw up and we'd sit and
talk. 'There were men here on this very spot,' he'd say, 'looking
out for attack, eating, drinking, cooking their food, polishing their
weapons, laughing, and shouting--MEN--Selden, fifty-five years before
Christ was born--and sometimes the New Testament times seem to us so far
away that they are half a dream.' That was the kind of thing he'd say,
and I'd sometimes feel as if I heard the Romans shouting. The country
about there was full of queer places, and both he and Lord Dunstan knew
more about them than I know about Twenty-third Street."

"You saw Lord Mount Dunstan often?" Mr. Vanderpoel suggested.

"Every day, sir. And the more I saw him, the more I got to like
him. He's all right. But it's hard luck to be fixed as he is--that's
stone-cold truth. What's a man to do? The money he ought to have to keep
up his place was spent before he was born. His father and his eldest
brother were a bum lot, and his grandfather and great-grandfather
were fools. He can't sell the place, and he wouldn't if he could.
Mr. Penzance was so fon