urniture and
pictures upon easels, I found D'Arcy lolling lazily upon a huge sofa.
Seeing that he was not alone, I was about to withdraw, for I was in
no mood to meet strangers. However, he sprang up and introduced me to
his guest, whom he called Symonds, an elegant-looking man in a
peculiar kind of evening dress, who, as I afterwards learned, was one
of Mr. D'Arcy's chief buyers. This gentleman bowed stiffly to me.

He did not stay long; indeed, it was evident that the appearance of a
stranger somewhat disconcerted him.

After he was gone D'Arcy said, 'A good fellow! One of my most
important buyers. I should like you to know him, for you and I are
going to be friends. I hope.'

He seems very fond of pictures,' I said. A man of great taste, with a
real love of art and music.'

In a little while after this gentleman's departure in came De Castro,
who had driven up in a hansom. I certainly saw a flash of anger in
his eyes as he recognised me, but it vanished like lightning, and his
manner became cordiality itself. Late as it was (it was nearly
twelve), he pulled out his cigarette case, and evidently intended to
begin the evening. As soon as he was told that Mr. Symonds had been,
he began to talk about him in a disparaging manner. Evidently his
metier was, as I had surmised, that of a professional talker. Talk
was his stock-in-trade.

The night wore on, and De Castro in the intervals of his talk kept
pulling out his watch. It was evident that he wanted to be going, but
was reluctant to leave me there. For my part, I frequently rose to
go, but on getting a sign from D'Arcy that he wished me to stay I sat
down again. At last D'Arcy said,

'You had better go now, De Castro, you have kept that hansom outside
for more than an hour and a half; and besides, if you stay till
daylight our friend here will stay longer, for I want to talk with
him alone.'

De Castro got up with a laugh that seemed genuine enough, and left
us.

D'Arcy, who was still on the sofa, then lapsed into a silence that
became after a while rather awkward. He lay there, gazing
abstractedly at the fireplace.

'Some of my friends call me, as you heard De Castro say the other
night, Haroun-al-Raschid, and I suppose I am like him in some things.
I am a bad sleeper, and to be amused by De Castro when I can't sleep
is the chief of blessings. De Castro, however, is not so bad as he
seems. A man may be a scandal-monger without being really malignant.
I ha