fact that his idleness did not trouble him might well have given him
uneasiness. Many thoughts passed through his mind, imaginings of things
he had thought left behind forever--sensations and longings which to the
normal eye of middle age are but dried forms hung in the museum of
memory. They started up at the whip of the still-living youth, the lost
wildness at the heart of every man. Like the reviving flame of half-spent
fires, longing for discovery leaped and flickered in Hilary--to find out
once again what things were like before he went down the hill of age.

No trivial ghost was beckoning him; it was the ghost, with unseen face
and rosy finger, which comes to men when youth has gone.

Miranda, hearing him so silent, rose. At this hour it was her master's
habit to scratch paper. She, who seldom scratched anything, because it
was not delicate, felt dimly that this was what he should be doing. She
held up a slim foot and touched his knee. Receiving no discouragement,
she delicately sprang into his lap, and, forgetting for once her modesty,
placed her arms on his chest, and licked his face all over.

It was while receiving this embrace that Hilary saw Mr. Stone and the
little model returning across the garden. The old man was walking very
rapidly, holding out the fragment of a broken stick. He was extremely
pink.

Hilary went to meet them.

"What's the matter, sir?" he said.

"I cut him over the legs," said Mr. Stone. "I do not regret it"; and he
walked on to his room.

Hilary turned to the little model.

"It was a little dog. The man kicked it, and Mr. Stone hit him. He
broke his stick. There were several men; they threatened us." She
looked up at Hilary. "I-I was frightened. Oh! Mr. Dallison, isn't he
funny?"

"All heroes are funny," murmured Hilary.

"He wanted to hit them again, after his stick was broken. Then a
policeman came, and they all ran away."

"That was quite as it should be," said Hilary. "And what did you do?"

Perceiving that she had not as yet made much effect, the little model
cast down her eyes.

"I shouldn't have been frightened if you had been there!"

"Heavens!" muttered Hilary. "Mr. Stone is far more valiant than I."

"I don't think he is," she replied stubbornly, and again looked up at
him.

"Well, good-night!" said Hilary hastily. "You must run off...."

That same evening, driving with his wife back from a long, dull dinner,
Hilary began:

"I've s