faces in the shadows of the garden and feel their
hot breath upon his cheek.

His passage through the streets of Pendragon woke him from his dreams;
its almost startling modernity and obtrusive up-to-dateness laughed at
his fancies. It was very much changed since he had been there
before--like the garden, it was the very apotheosis of order and modern
methods. "The Pendragon Hotel" astonished him by its stone pillars,
its glimpse of a wonderful, cool, softly carpeted hall, its official in
gold buttons who stood solemnly magnificent on the steps, the
admiration of several small boys who looked up into his face with
wide-open eyes.

Harry remembered the old "Pendragon Hotel," a dirty, unmethodical
place, with beds that were never clean. It had been something of a
scandal, but its landlord had been an amusing fellow and a capital
teller of stories.

The shops dazzled him by their brilliance. The hairdresser's displayed
a wonderful assortment of wigs in the window; coloured bottles of every
size and hue glittered in the chemist's; diamonds flashed in the
jeweller's--the street seemed glorious to his colonial eyes.

The streets were not very crowded, and no one seemed to be in a hurry.
Auckland had been rather a busy little town--no one had had very much
time to spare--but here, under the mellow September sun, people
lingered and talked, and the time and place seemed to stand still with
the pleasant air of something restfully comfortable, and, above all,
containing nothing that wasn't in the very best taste. It was this air
of polite gentility that struck Harry so strongly. It had never been
like that in the old days; a ragged unkempt place of uncertain manners
and a very evident poverty. He rather resented its new polish, and he
regretted once more that he had not sought a London tailor before
coming down to Cornwall.

He suddenly recognised a face--a middle-aged, stout gentleman, with a
white waistcoat and the air of one who had managed to lead a virtuous
life and, nevertheless, accumulate money; he was evidently satisfied
with both achievements. It was Barbour, Bunny Barbour. He had been
rather a good chap at school, with some taste for adventure. He had
had a wider horizon than most of them; Harry remembered how Bunny had
envied him in New Zealand. He looked prosperous and sedate now, and
the world must have treated him well. Harry spoke to him and was
received with effusion. "Trojan, old man! Well, I