read the sequence of short but
pithy paragraphs. Mrs. Minchin's new name was not given after all, nor
that of her adopted district; while Langholm himself only slunk into
print as "a well-known novelist who, oddly enough, was among the guests,
and eye-witness of a situation after his own heart." The district might
have been any one of the many manufacturing centres in "the largest of
shires," which was the one geographical clew vouchsafed by the
half-penny paper. Langholm began to regret his readiness to admit the
impeachment with which he had been saluted; it was only in his own club
that he would have been pounced upon as the "well-known novelist"; but
it was some comfort to reflect that even in his own club his exact
address was not known, for his solicitor paid his subscription and sent
periodically for his letters. Charles Langholm had not set up as hermit
by halves; he had his own reasons for being thorough there. And it was
more inspiriting than the champagne to feel that no fresh annoyance was
likely to befall the Steels through him.

"It's not so bad as I thought," said Langholm, throwing the newspaper
aside as his companion, whose professional name was Valentine Venn,
finished with the wine-card.

"Dear boy," said Venn, "it took a pal to spot you. Alone I did it! But I
wish you weren't so dark about that confounded cottage of yours; the
humble mummer would fain gather the crumbs that fall from the rich
scribe's table, especially when he's out of a shop, which is the present
condition of affairs. Besides, we might collaborate in a play, and make
more money apiece in three weeks than either of us earns in a fat year.
That little story of yours--"

"Never mind my little stories," said Langholm, hastily; "I've just
finished a long one, and the very thought of fiction makes me sick."

"Well, you've got facts to turn to for a change, and for once they
really do seem as strange as the other thing. Lucky bargee! Have you had
her under the microscope all the summer? Ye gods, what a part of
Mrs.--"

"Drink up," said Langholm, grimly, as the champagne made an opportune
appearance; "and now tell me who that fellow is who's opening the piano,
and since when you've started a musical dinner."

The big room that the screen divided had a grand piano in the dining
half, for use upon those Saturday evenings for which the old club was
still famous, but rarely touched during the working days of the week.
Yet even now a dark