o court. In wig and gown, that
something "old Georgian" about him was very visible. A beauty-spot or
two, a full-skirted velvet coat, a sword and snuff-box, with that grey
wig or its equivalent, and there would have been a perfect
eighteenth-century specimen of the less bucolic stamp--the same strong,
light build, breadth of face, brown pallor, clean and unpinched cut of
lips, the same slight insolence and devil-may-caredom, the same clear
glance, and bubble of vitality. It was almost a pity to have been born so
late.

Except that once or twice he drew a face on blotting-paper and smeared it
over, he remained normally attentive to his "lud" and the matters in hand
all day, conducted without error the examination of two witnesses and
with terror the cross-examination of one; lunched at the Courts in
perfect amity with the sucking barrister on the other side of the case,
for they had neither, as yet, reached that maturity which enables an
advocate to call his enemy his "friend," and treat him with considerable
asperity. Though among his acquaintances Summerhay always provoked
badinage, in which he was scarcely ever defeated, yet in chambers and
court, on circuit, at his club, in society or the hunting-field, he had
an unfavourable effect on the grosser sort of stories. There are men--by
no means strikingly moral--who exercise this blighting influence. They
are generally what the French call "spirituel," and often have rather
desperate love-affairs which they keep very closely to themselves.

When at last in chambers, he had washed off that special reek of clothes,
and parchment, far-away herrings, and distemper, which clings about the
law, dipping his whole curly head in water, and towelling vigorously, he
set forth alone along the Embankment, his hat tilted up, smoking a cigar.
It was nearly seven. Just this time yesterday he had got into the train,
just this time yesterday turned and seen the face which had refused to
leave him since. Fever recurs at certain hours, just so did the desire to
see her mount within him, becoming an obsession, because it was
impossible to gratify it. One could not call at seven o'clock! The idea
of his club, where at this time of day he usually went, seemed flat and
stale, until he remembered that he might pass up Bury Street to get to
it. But, near Charing Cross, a hand smote him on the shoulder, and the
voice of one of his intimates said:

"Halo, Bryan!"

Odd, that he had never