fully rally from the astounding force of such an
unjustifiable opinion, his guest, Conway, knocked at the door.

"I say, Kellett, there comes an apology from your friend."

"How so?" asked Kellett, eagerly.

"I just saw a soldier come up to the door, and the chances are it 's an
officer's servant with a note of excuse."

The door opened as he spoke, and Conway entered the room. Kellett met
him with an honest cordiality, and then, turning to Beecher, said,--

"My son's friend and comrade,--Mr. Annesley Beecher;" and the two men
bowed to each other, and exchanged glances that scarcely indicated much
pleasure at the acquaintance.

"Why, he 's in the ranks, Kellett," whispered Beecher, as he drew him
into the window.

"So is my son," said Kellett, with a gulp that half choked him.

"The deuce he is; you never told me that. And is this our dinner
company?"

"I was just going to explain--Oh, here's Bella!" and Miss Kellett
entered, giving such a cordial greeting to the soldier that made Beecher
actually astounded.

"What's his name, Kellett?" said Beecher, half languidly.

"A good name, for the matter of that; he's called Conway."

"Conway--Conway?" repeated Beecher, aloud; "we have fortieth cousins,
Conways. There was a fellow called Conway in the Twelfth Lancers that
went a tremendous pace; they nicknamed him the 'Smasher,' I don't know
why. Do you?" said he, addressing the soldier.

"I 've heard it was from an awkward habit he had of putting his heel on
snobs."

"Oh! you know him, perhaps?" said Beecher, affectedly.

"Why, as I was the man myself, I ought, according to the old adage, to
say I knew but little of him."

"You Conway of the Twelfth! the same that owned Brushwood and Lady
Killer, that won the Riddlesworth?"

"You're calling up old memories to me," said the youth, smiling, "which,
after all, I 'd just as soon forget."

"And you were an officer in the Lancers!" exclaimed Kellett, eagerly.

"Yes; I should have had my troop by this if I hadn't owned those
fortunate three-year-olds Mr. Beecher has just reminded me of. Like
many others, whom success on the turf has misled, I went on madly, quite
convinced I had fortune with me."

"Ah!" said Beecher, moralizing, "there's no doing a good stroke of work
without the legs. Cranley tried it, Hawchcome tried it, Ludborough tried
it, but it won't do. As Grog Davis says, 'you must not ignore existing
interests.'"

"There's another name I have n't h