re on the personal note, which I sincerely deprecate, you
might like to stroll round the room and look at the portrait of my
father, behind the door, and of my mother, over the fireplace. Forgive
my not accompanying you. The fact is--this is an interesting touch--I
have always been rather subject to lumbago." And seeing the nephew
Sinkin, who had risen to his suggestion, standing somewhat irresolutely
in front of him, he added: "Perhaps you would like to look a little more
closely at my eyes. Every now and then they flash with an almost uncanny
insight." For by now he had quite forgotten his modesty in the
identification he felt with the journal which was interviewing him. "I am
fifty-eight," he added quickly; "but I do not look my years, though my
hair, still thick and full of vigour, is prematurely white--so often the
case with men whose brains are continually on the stretch. The little
home, far from grandiose, which forms the background to this most
interesting personality is embowered in trees. Cats have made their mark
on its lawns, and its owner's love of animals was sharply illustrated by
the sheep-dog which lay on his feet clad in Turkish slippers. Get up,
Blink!"

Blink, disturbed by the motion of her master's feet, rose and gazed long
into his face.

"Look!" said Mr. Lavender, "she has the most beautiful eyes in the
world."

At this remark, which appeared to him no saner than the others he had
heard--so utterly did he misjudge Mr. Lavender's character--the nephew
put down the notebook he had taken out of his pocket, and said:

"Has there ever been anything--er--remarkable about your family?"

"Indeed, yes," said Mr. Lavender. Born of poor but lofty parentage in
the city of Rochester, my father made his living as a publisher; my
mother was a true daughter of the bards, the scion of a stock tracing its
decent from the Druids; her name was originally Jones."

"Ah!" said the nephew Sinkin, writing.

"She has often told me at her knee," continued Mr. Lavender, "that there
was a strong vein of patriotism in her family."

"She did not die--in--in----"

"No, indeed," interrupted Mr. Lavender; she is still living there."

"Ah!" said the nephew. "And your brothers and sisters?"

"One of my brothers," replied Mr. Lavender, with pardonable pride, "is
the editor of Cud Bits. The other is a clergyman."

"Eccentric," murmured the nephew absently. "Tell me, Mr. Lavender, do
you find your work a great strain? Do