the door, followed by the appearance of a
round-faced little man, with a tray, interrupted further contemplation
or reverie on John Steele's part. Seating himself at the table, he
responded negatively to the servant's inquiry if "anythink" else would
be required, and when the man had withdrawn, mechanically turned to his
letters and to his simple evening repast. He ate with no great evidence
of appetite, soon brushed the missives, half-read, aside, and pushed
back his chair.

Lighting a pipe he picked up one of the papers, and for some moments his
attention seemed fairly divided between a casual inspection of the light
arabesques that ascended in clouds from his lips and the heavy-looking
columns of the morning sheet. Suddenly, however, the latter dissipated
his further concern in his pipe; he put it down and spread out the big
paper in both hands. Amid voluminous wastes of type an item, in the
court and society column, had caught his eye:

"Sir Charles and Lady Wray, who are intending
henceforth to reside in England, have
returned to the stately Wray mansion in Piccadilly,
where they will be for the season. Our
well-known Governor and his Lady are accompanied
by their niece, the beautiful and accomplished
Miss Jocelyn Wray, only child of Sir
Charles' younger brother, the late Honorable
Mr. Richard Wray, whose estate included enormous
holdings in Australia as well as several
thousand acres in Devonshire. This charming
young colonial has already captivated London
society."

John Steele read carefully this bit of news, and then re-read it; he
even found himself guilty of perusing all the other paragraphs; the
comings and goings, the fine doings! They related to a world he had
thought little about; a world within the world; just as the people who
lived in tunnels and dark passages constituted another world within the
world. Her name danced in illustrious company; here were dukes and earls
and viscounts; a sprinkling of the foreign element: begums, emirs, the
nation's guests. He saw, also, "Sir Charles, Lady Wray and Miss Wray"
among the long list of box-holders for that night at the opera, a gala
occasion, commanded by royalty for the entertainment of royalty, and,
incidentally, of certain barbarian personages who had come across the
seas to be diplomatically coddled and fed.

Folding his newspaper, John Steele turned to his legal papers; strove to
re