e, and beneath it, written in pencil, an invitation
to dine that evening at a certain hotel in the Rue de Provence. As
usual, Narramore had neglected the duties of a correspondent; this was
the first announcement of his intention to be in Paris. Who the second
man might be Hilliard could not conjecture.

He arrived at the hotel, and found Narramore in company with a man of
about the same age, his name Birching, to Hilliard a stranger. They had
reached Paris this morning, and would remain only for a day or two, as
their purpose was towards the Alps.

"I couldn't stand this heat," remarked Narramore, who, in the very
lightest of tourist garbs, sprawled upon a divan, and drank something
iced out of a tall tumbler. "We shouldn't have stopped here at all if
it hadn't been for you. The idea is that you should go on with us."

"Can't--impossible----"

"Why, what are you doing here--besides roasting?"

"Eating and drinking just what suits my digestion."

"You look pretty fit--a jolly sight better than when we met last. All
the same, you will go on with us. We won't argue it now; it's
dinner-time. Wait till afterwards."

At table, Narramore mentioned that his friend Birching was an architect.

"Just what this fellow ought to have been," he said, indicating
Hilliard. "Architecture is his hobby. I believe he could sit down and
draw to scale a front elevation of any great cathedral in
Europe--couldn't you, Hilliard?"

Laughing the joke aside, Hilliard looked with interest at Mr. Birching,
and began to talk with him. The three young men consumed a good deal of
wine, and after dinner strolled about the streets, until Narramore's
fatigue and thirst brought them to a pause at a cafe on the Boulevard
des Italiens. Birching presently moved apart, to reach a newspaper, and
remained out of earshot while Narramore talked with his other friend.

"What's going on?" he began. "What are you doing here? Seriously, I
want you to go along with us. Birching is a very good sort of chap, but
just a trifle heavy--takes things rather solemnly for such hot weather.
Is it the expense? Hang it! You and I know each other well enough, and,
thanks to my old uncle----"

"Never mind that, old boy," interposed Hilliard. "How long are you
going for?"

"I can't very well be away for more than three weeks. The brass
bedsteads, you know----"

Hilliard agreed to join in the tour.

"That's right: I've been looking forward to it," said his friend
hea