acquaintanceship in
future. Good-evening!" and he went to the door. Mr. Ventnor had risen.

"Very well," he said loudly. "Good riddance! You wait and see which
boot the leg is on!"

But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a very
angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech. Not only Bob
Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no longer dallied
with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a Briton thought only
of how to get his own back, and punish evildoers. The atrocious words of
his young friend, "It's not the conduct of a gentleman," festered in the
heart of one who was made gentle not merely by nature but by Act of
Parliament, and he registered a solemn vow to wipe the insult out, if not
with blood, with verjuice. It was his duty, and they should d---d well
see him do it!

IV

Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before eleven.
The latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the resignation
which the former habit prompted almost every night.

Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly shaved, he
looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath. Having disposed
of coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The Morning Post, for he
had always been a Tory, and could not stomach paying a halfpenny for his
news. Not that there were many letters--when a man has reached the age
of eighty, who should write to him, except to ask for money?

It was Valentine's Day. Through his bedroom window he could see the
trees of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not hear
them. He had never been interested in Nature--full-blooded men with
short necks seldom are.

This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which
smelt of something. Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save that
the naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words coming out of
his mouth: "To be your Valentine." There was also a little pink note
with one blue forget-me-not printed at the top. It ran:

"DEAREST GUARDY,--I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I
couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked
Jock, and the pig bought this. The satin is simply scrumptious. If you
don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show it to
you. I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just like a
matchbox, but it's rather ripping ha