d you never
heard of that affair with the Frenchman in Egypt?"

"Well," Maitland replied, "about his ancient history I own I don't know
anything. As to the row with the Frenchman at Cairo, he told me himself.
He said the beggar was too small for him to lick, and that duelling was
ridiculous."

"They didn't take that view of it at Shephard's Hotel"

"Well, it is not my affair," said Maitland. "One should see all sort
of characters, Bielby says. This is not an ordinary fellow. Why, he has
been a sailor before the mast, he says, by way of adventure, and he
is full of good stories. I rather like him, and he can't do my moral
character any harm. _I'm_ not likely to deal in Coolies, at my time of
life, nor quarrel with warlike aliens."

"No; but he's not a good man to introduce to these boys from Oxford,"
Barton was saying, when the subject of their conversation came up,
surrounded by his little court of undergraduates.

The Hon. Thomas Cranley was a good deal older than the company in
which he found himself. Without being one of the hoary youths who play
Falstaff to every fresh heir's Prince Harry, he was a middle-aged man,
too obviously accustomed to the society of boys. His very dress spoke
of a prolonged youth. A large cat's-eye, circled with diamonds, blazed
solitary in his shirt-front, and his coat was cut after the manner of
the contemporary reveller. His chin was clean shaven, and his face,
though a good deal worn, was ripe, smooth, shining with good cheer, and
of a purply bronze hue, from exposure to hot suns and familiarity with
the beverages of many peoples. His full red lips, with their humorous
corners, were shaded by a small black mustache, and his twinkling
bistre-colored eyes, beneath mobile black eyebrows, gave Cranley the air
of a jester and a good fellow. In manner he was familiar, with a kind of
deference, too, and reserve, "like a dog that is always wagging his
tail and deprecating a kick," thought Barton grimly, as he watched the
other's genial advance.

"He's going to say good-night, bless him," thought Maitland gratefully.
"Now the others will be moving too, I hope!"

So Maitland rose with much alacrity as Cranley approached him. To stand
up would show, he thought, that he was not inhospitably eager to detain
the parting guest.

"Good-night, Mr. Maitland," said the senior, holding out his hand.

"It is still early," said the host, doing his best to play his part.
"Must you really go?"

"Ye