so!" And he laughed. "Just as David is! But we neither of us
wish the fact emphasised, do we, David? It goes without saying!"

Helmsley smiled. This Angus Reay was a man after his own heart.

"Of course it does!"--he said--"In the way you look at it! But you
should tell Miss Deane all about yourself--she'll be interested."

"Would you really care to hear?" enquired Reay, suddenly, turning his
clear grey eyes full on Mary's face.

"Why certainly I should!" she answered, frankly meeting his glance,--and
then, from some sudden and inexplicable embarrassment, she blushed
crimson, and her eyelids fell. And Reay thought what a clear, healthy
skin she had, and how warmly the blood flowed under it.

"Well, after tea I'll hold forth!" he said--"But there isn't much to
tell. Such as there is, you shall know, for I've no mysteries about me.
Some fellows love a mystery--I cannot bear it! Everything must be fair,
open and above board with me,--else I can't breathe! Pouf!" And he
expanded his broad chest and took a great gulp of air in as he spoke--"I
hate a man who tries to hide his own identity, don't you, David?"

"Yes--yes--certainly!" murmured Helmsley, absently, feigning to be
absorbed in buttering a scone for his own eating--"It is often very
awkward--for the man."

"I always say, and I always will maintain,"--went on Reay--"let a man be
a man--a something or a nothing. If he is a criminal, let him say he is
a criminal, and not pretend to be virtuous--if he is an atheist, let him
say he is an atheist, and not pretend to be religious--if he's a beggar
and can't help himself, let him admit the fact--if he's a millionaire,
don't let him skulk round pretending he's as poor as Job--always let him
be himself and no other!--eh?--what is it, David?"

For Helmsley was looking at him intently with eyes that were almost
young in their sudden animation and brilliancy.

"Did you ever meet a millionaire who skulked round pretending he was as
poor as Job?" he enquired, with a whimsical air--"_I_ never did!"

"Well no, I never did, either!" And Reay's mellow laughter was so loud
and long that Mary was quite infected by it, and laughed with him--"But
you see millionaires are all marked men. Everybody knows them. Their
portraits are in all the newspapers--horrid-looking rascals most of
them!--Nature doesn't seem to endow them with handsome features anyway.
'Keep your gold, and never mind your face,'--she seems to say--'_I'll_
take ca