'This is a friend of mine, a neighbour who often pays me a visit,' said
the old lady hurriedly, as the white figure loomed along towards them.
'He is a most agreeable man, very companionable indeed, and learned,
too--extremely learned.'

This was all that she had time to say before the white gentleman came
too close to them to permit of further conversation concerning his
merits or defects.

The new-comer raised his hat, a huge, white, loose, shapeless felt, in
keeping with his ill-defined attire, and made an awkward bow which at
once included the old lady and the Dictator, on whom the blue eyes
beamed for a moment in good-natured wonder.

'Good morning, Miss Ericson,' said the new-comer. He spoke to Miss
Ericson; but it was evident that his thoughts were distracted. His vague
blue eyes were fixed in benign bewilderment upon the Dictator's face.

Miss Ericson rose; so did her nephew. Miss Ericson spoke.

'Good morning, Mr. Sarrasin. Let me present you to my nephew, of whom
you have heard so much. Nephew, this is Mr. Gilbert Sarrasin.'

The new-comer extended both hands; they were very large hands, and very
soft and very white. He enfolded the Dictator's extended right hand in
one of his, and beamed upon him in unaffected joy.

'Not your nephew, Miss Ericson--not the hero of the hour? Is it
possible; is it possible? My dear sir, my very dear and honoured sir, I
cannot tell you how rejoiced I am, how proud I am, to have the privilege
of meeting you.'

The Dictator returned his friendly clasp with a warm pressure. He was
somewhat amused by this unexpected enthusiasm.

'You are very good indeed, Mr. Sarrasin.' Then, repeating the name to
himself, he added, 'Your name seems to be familiar to me.'

The white gentleman shook his head with something like playful
repudiation.

'Not my name, I think; no, not my name, I feel sure.' He accentuated the
possessive pronoun strongly, and then proceeded to explain the
accentuation, smiling more and more amiably as he did so. 'No, not my
name; my brother's--my brother's, I fancy.'

'Your brother's?' the Dictator said inquiringly. There was some
association in his mind with the name of Sarrasin, but he could not
reduce it to precise knowledge.

'Yes, my brother,' said the white gentleman. 'My brother, Oisin Stewart
Sarrasin, whose name, I am proud to think, is familiar in many parts of
the world.'

The recollection he was seeking came to the Dictator. It was the name
th