erly and
careful mind.

Crossing the garden, he heard Mr. Stone's voice issuing through the open
window.

'Can't the old crank stop even on Sundays?' he thought.

He found Hilary in his study, reading a book on the civilisation of the
Maccabees, in preparation for a review. He gave Stephen but a dubious
welcome.

Stephen broke ground gently.

"We haven't seen you for an age. I hear our old friend at it. Is he
working double tides to finish his magnum opus? I thought he observed
the day of rest."

"He does as a rule," said Hilary.

"Well, he's got the girl there now dictating."

Hilary winced. Stephen continued with greater circumspection "You
couldn't get the old boy to finish by Wednesday, I suppose? He must be
quite near the end by now."

The notion of Mr. Stone's finishing his book by Wednesday procured a pale
smile from Hilary.

"Could you get your Law Courts," he said, "to settle up the affairs of
mankind for good and all by Wednesday?"

"By Jove! Is it as bad as that? I thought, at any rate, he must be
meaning to finish some day."

"When men are brothers," said Hilary, "he will finish."

Stephen whistled.

"Look here, dear boy!" he said, "that ruffian comes out on Wednesday. The
whole thing will begin over again."

Hilary rose and paced the room. "I refuse," he said, "to consider Hughs
a ruffian. What do we know about him, or any of them?"

"Precisely! What do we know of this girl?"

"I am not going to discuss that," Hilary said shortly.

For a moment the faces of the two brothers wore a hard, hostile look, as
though the deep difference between their characters had at last got the
better of their loyalty. They both seemed to recognise this, for they
turned their heads away.

"I just wanted to remind you," Stephen said, "though you know your own
business best, of course." And at Hilary's nod he thought:

'That's just exactly what he doesn't!'

He soon left, conscious of an unwonted awkwardness in his brother's
presence. Hilary watched him out through the wicket gate, then sat down
on the solitary garden bench.

Stephen's visit had merely awakened perverse desires in him. Strong
sunlight was falling on that little London garden, disclosing its native
shadowiness; streaks, and smudges such as Life smears over the faces of
those who live too consciously. Hilary, beneath the acacia-tree not yet
in bloom, marked an early butterfly flitting over the geraniums
blossoming round