or so that the dust fell
off the seat, sat down astride it, and, bending forward a little,
proceeded to observe the artist with very keen eyes. Hilary Vance, who
was very busy, fell to work again, and after his manner, grew
grandiloquent about the pleasures of the day before, which he had spent
in the country.

Soon it grew clear to the Honourable John Ruffin that his friend had
swollen with the insolent happiness so hateful to the Fates, and he said:

"You seem to be uncommonly cheerful, Vance. What's the matter?"

Hilary Vance looked at him gravely, drew himself upright in his chair,
laid down his pencil, and said in a tone of solemnity calculated to
awaken the deepest respect and awe:

"Ruffin, I have found a woman--a WOMAN!"

The quality of the Honourable John Ruffin's gaze changed; his eyes rested
on the face of his friend with a caressing, almost cherishing, delight.

"Isn't it becoming rather a habit?" he said blandly.

"I don't know what you mean," said Hilary Vance with splendid dignity.
"But this is different. This is a WOMAN!"

His face filled with an expression of the finest beatitude.

"They so often are," said the Honourable John Ruffin. "Does James know
about her?"

At the sound of the name of the mentor and friend who had rescued him
from so many difficulties, something of guilt mingled with the beatitude
on Hilary Vance's face, and he said in a less assured tone:

"James is in Scotland."

The Honourable John Ruffin sprang from his chair with a briskness which
made Hilary Vance himself jump, and cried in a tone of the liveliest
commiseration and dismay:

"Good Heavens! Then you're lost--lost!"

"What do you mean?" said Hilary Vance quite sharply.

"I mean that your case is hopeless," said the Honourable John Ruffin in a
less excited tone. "_James_ is in Scotland; _I'm_ off to Buda-Pesth; and
_you_ have found a WOMAN--probably THE WOMAN."

"I don't know what you mean," said Hilary Vance, frowning.

"That's the worst of it! That's why it's so hopeless!" said the
Honourable John Ruffin in a tone of deep depression.

"What do you mean?" cried Hilary Vance in sudden bellow.

"Good-bye, old chap; good-bye," said the Honourable John Ruffin in the
most mournful tone and with the most mournful air. "I _can not_ save
you. I've got to go to Buda-Pesth." He walked half-way to the door,
turned sharply on his heel, clapped his hand to his head with the most
dramatic gesture, and cried: