ve a superb collection of books," he observed with a sudden quick
look at his host.

"Yes; I rather pride myself on my library," said Sir Charles
complacently. "Lost a good many of the choicest though," he went on in
regretful tones, "some years ago, as I was returning to Australia. A
rare lot of law books, a library in themselves, as well as a large
collection of the classics, the world's poets and historians, went down
with the ill-fated _Lord Nelson_."

"Ah?" John Steele looked away. "A great mart, London, for fine
editions!" he said absently after a pause.

"It is. But here are those I spoke of." And Sir Charles indicated a
number of volumes on a large center table. John Steele handled them
thoughtfully and for some time his host ran on about them. A choice copy
of one of the Elizabethan poets, intruding itself in that august
company, then attracted Steele's attention; he picked it up, weighed and
caressed it with gentle fingers.

"Who shall measure the influence of--a little parcel like this?" he said
at length lightly.

"True." Sir Charles' eye caught the title. "As Portia says: 'It blesseth
him that gives and him that takes.' Excellent bit of binding that, too!
But," with new zest, "take any interest in rare books of the ring, full
of eighteenth century colored prints, and so on?"

"I can't say, at present, that the doings of the ring or the history of
pugilists attract me."

"That's because you've never seen an honest, hard-fought battle,
perhaps?"

"A flattering designation, I should say, of the spectacle of two brutes
disfiguring their already repulsive visages!"

"Two brutes?--disfiguring?"--the drawling voice of Lord Ronsdale who had
at that moment stepped in, inquired. "May I ask what the--talk is
about?"

Sir Charles turned. "Steele was differing from me about a good, old,
honest English sport."

"Sport?" Lord Ronsdale dropped into a chair and helped himself to whisky
and soda conveniently near.

"I refer to the ring--its traditions--its chronicles--"

"Ah!" The speaker raised his glass and looked at John Steele. The latter
was nonchalantly regarding the pages of a book he yet held; his face was
half-turned from the nobleman. The clear-cut, bold profile, the easy,
assured carriage, so suggestive of strength, seemed to attract, to
compel Lord Ronsdale's attention.

"For my part," went on Sir Charles in a somewhat disappointed tone, "I
am one who views with regret the decadence of a great