weary of your conversation. The truth is, I like it much
better than in the old days. You seem to me to have a healthier mind,
and I am quite sure that the society of intelligent women (we affect no
foolish self-depreciation, Miss Nunn and I) is a good thing for you.
Come back to us as soon as you like; I shall welcome you.'

It happened that his return to England was almost simultaneous with the
arrival from Madeira of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Barfoot. Everard at once
went to see his brother, who for the present was staying at Torquay.
Ill-health dictated his choice of residence; Thomas was still suffering
from the results of his accident; his wife had left him at a hotel, and
was visiting relatives in different parts of England. The brothers
exhibited much affectionate feeling after their long separation; they
spent a week together, and planned for another meeting when Mrs. Thomas
should have returned to her husband.

An engagement called Everard back to town. He was to be present at the
wedding of his friend Micklethwaite, now actually on the point of
taking place. The mathematician had found a suitable house, very small
and of very low rental, out at South Tottenham, and thither was
transferred the furniture which had been in his bride's possession
since the death of her parents; Micklethwaite bought only a few new
things. By discreet inquiry, Barfoot had discovered that 'Fanny,'
though musically inclined, would not possess a piano, her old
instrument being quite worn out and not worth the cost of conveyance;
thus it came to pass that, a day or two before the wedding,
Micklethwaite was astonished by the arrival of an instrument of the
Cottage species, mysteriously addressed to a person not yet in
existence, Mrs. Micklethwaite.

'You scoundrel!' he cried, when, on the next day, Barfoot presented
himself at the house. 'This is _your_ doing. What the deuce do you
mean? A man who complains of poverty! Well, it's the greatest kindness
I ever received, that's all. Fanny will be devoted to you. With music
in the house, our blind sister will lead quite a different life.
Confound it! I want to begin crying. Why, man, I'm not accustomed to
receive presents, even as a proxy; I haven't had one since I was a
schoolboy.'

'That's an audacious statement. When you told me that Miss Wheatley
never allowed your birthday to pass without sending something.'

'Oh, Fanny! But I have never thought of Fanny as a separate person.
Upon my w