him, and watching his guest's eyes travel round the
room, with its medicine shelves, its rods and nets, and preparations of
uncanny beasts, its parish litter, and its teeming bookcases, felt that
the Mile End matter was turning out oddly indeed.

'I have packed you a case of books, Mr. Elsmere,' said the squire, after
a puff or two at his cigar. 'How have you got on without that collection
of Councils?'

He smiled a little awkwardly. It was one of the books Robert had sent
back. Robert flushed. He did not want the squire to regard him as wholly
dependent on Murewell.

'I bought it,' he said, rather shortly. 'I have ruined myself in books
lately, and the London Library too supplies me really wonderfully well.'

'Are these your books?' The squire got up to look at them. 'Hum, not at
all bad for a beginning. I have sent you so and so,' and he named one or
two costly folios that Robert had long pined for in vain.

The rector's eyes glistened.

'That was very good of you,' he said simply. 'They will be most
welcome.'

'And now, how much _time_,' said the other, settling himself again to
his cigar, his thin legs crossed over each other, and his great head
sunk into his shoulders, 'how much time do you give to this work?'

'Generally the mornings--not always. A man with twelve hundred souls to
look after, you know, Mr. Wendover,' said Elsmere, with a bright
half-defiant accent, 'can't make grubbing among the Franks his main
business.'

The squire said nothing, and smoked on. Robert gathered that his
companion thought his chances of doing anything worth mentioning very
small.

'Oh no,' he said, following out his own thought with a shake of his
curly hair; 'of course I shall never do very much. But if I don't, it
won't be for want of knowing what the scholar's ideal is.' And he lifted
his hand with a smile towards the squire's book on _English Culture_,
which stood in the bookcase just above him. The squire, following the
gesture, smiled too. It was a faint, slight illumining, but it changed
the face agreeably.

Robert began to ask questions about the book, about the pictures
contained in it of foreign life and foreign universities. The squire
consented to be drawn out, and presently was talking at his very best.

Racy stories of Mommsen or Von Ranke were followed by a description of
an evening of mad carouse with Heine--a talk at Nohant with George
Sand--scenes in the Duchesse de Broglie's salon--a contemptuous s