as
every reason to believe that he would shortly be promoted to the Chair
of the greatest of German Universities. But the singleness of purpose
which had brought him to the same high level as the rich and brilliant
Englishman, had caused him in everything outside their work to stand
infinitely below him. He had never found a pause in his studies in
which to cultivate the social graces. It was only when he spoke of his
own subject that his face was filled with life and soul. At other
times he was silent and embarrassed, too conscious of his own
limitations in larger subjects, and impatient of that small talk which
is the conventional refuge of those who have no thoughts to express.

And yet for some years there had been an acquaintanceship which
appeared to be slowly ripening into a friendship between these two very
different rivals. The base and origin of this lay in the fact that in
their own studies each was the only one of the younger men who had
knowledge and enthusiasm enough to properly appreciate the other.
Their common interests and pursuits had brought them together, and each
had been attracted by the other's knowledge. And then gradually
something had been added to this. Kennedy had been amused by the
frankness and simplicity of his rival, while Burger in turn had been
fascinated by the brilliancy and vivacity which had made Kennedy such a
favourite in Roman society. I say "had," because just at the moment
the young Englishman was somewhat under a cloud. A love-affair, the
details of which had never quite come out, had indicated a
heartlessness and callousness upon his part which shocked many of his
friends. But in the bachelor circles of students and artists in which
he preferred to move there is no very rigid code of honour in such
matters, and though a head might be shaken or a pair of shoulders
shrugged over the flight of two and the return of one, the general
sentiment was probably one of curiosity and perhaps of envy rather than
of reprobation.

"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, looking hard at the placid face of
his companion, "I do wish that you would confide in me."

As he spoke he waved his hand in the direction of a rug which lay upon
the floor. On the rug stood a long, shallow fruit-basket of the light
wicker-work which is used in the Campagna, and this was heaped with a
litter of objects, inscribed tiles, broken inscriptions, cracked
mosaics, torn papyri, rusty metal ornaments, which