at the hall
door. A daily drive was part of Mrs. Lane's ritual.

"By the way, you fellows," Eugene resumed, throwing himself on the
grass, "I may as well mention that Stafford doesn't drink, or eat meat,
or smoke, or play cards, or anything else."

"What a peculiar beggar!" said Bob.

"Yes, and he's peculiar in another way," said Eugene, a little dryly;
"he particularly objects to any remark being made on his habits--I mean
on what he eats and drinks and so on."

"There I agree," said Bob; "I object to any remarks on what I eat and
drink"; and he look a long pull at the beer.

"You must treat him with respect, young man. Haddington, I know, will
study him as a phenomenon. I can't protect him against that."

Mr. Haddington smiled and remarked that such revivals of mediaevalism
were interesting, if morbid; and having so delivered himself, he too
went his way.

"That chap's considered very clever, isn't he?" asked Bob of his host,
indicating Haddington's retreating figure.

"Very, I believe," said Eugene. "He's a cuckoo, you see."

"Dashed if I do," said Bob.

"He steals other birds' nests--eggs and all."

"Your natural history is a trifle mixed, old fellow; kindly explain."

"Well, he's a thief of ideas. Never was the father of one himself, and
gets his living by kidnapping."

"I never knew such a chap!" ejaculated Bob helplessly. "Why can't you
say plainly that you think he's an ass?"

"I don't," said Eugene. "He's by no means an ass. He's a very clever
fellow. But he lives on other men's ideas!"

"Oh! come and play billiards."

"I can't," said Eugene gravely. "I'm going to read poetry to Kate."

"By Jove, does she make you do that?"

Eugene nodded sadly, and Bob went off into a fit of obtrusive chuckling.
Eugene cast a large cushion dexterously at him and caught him just in
the mouth, and, still sadly, rose and went in search of his lady-love.

"Why the dickens does he marry that girl?" exclaimed Bob. "It beats me."

Bob Territon was not the only person in whom Eugene's engagement to Kate
Bernard inspired some surprise. But neither he nor any one else
succeeded in formulating very definite reasons for the feeling. Kate was
a beauty, and a beauty of a type undeniably orthodox and almost
aristocratic. She was tall and slight, her nose was the least trifle
arched, her fingers tapered, and so, it was believed, did her feet. Her
hair was golden, her mouth was small, and her accomplishments
considerab