Paul excitedly. "My Uncle Jacques
dramatically bequeathed this wonderful place to me, altering his will on
the day that I renounced the pen and entered an officer's training
corps. He was a remarkable old bachelor, Don----"

Don raised his hand, checking Paul's speech. "My dear Paul, you cannot
possibly amplify your own description of Sir Jacques, with which you
entertained us one evening in a certain top set at Oxford. Do you
remember those rooms, Paul?"

"Do I remember them!"

"_I_ do, and I remember your account of the saintly Uncle, for your
acquaintance had begun and terminated during a week of the previous
long vacation which you had spent here at Hatton. 'Uncle Jacques,' you
informed us, 'is a delightful survival, bearing a really remarkable
resemblance to a camel. Excepting his weakness for classic statuary and
studies in the nude, his life is of _Mayflower_ purity. He made his
fortune on the Baltic Exchange, was knighted owing to a clerical error,
and built the appalling church at Mid Hatton.'"

Paul laughed boyishly. "At least we were sincere in our youthful
cynicism, Don. You may add the note to your very accurate recollections
of Sir Jacques that on the publication of _Delilah_ he instructed his
butler to say that he was abroad whenever I might call!"

Fascinated as of old by his whimsical language, the cap-and-bells which
he loved to assume, Paul watched affectionately the smiling face of
Donald Courtier. Momentarily a faint tinge of melancholy had clouded the
gaiety of Don's grey eyes; for this chance meeting had conjured up
memories of a youth already slipping from his grasp, devoured by the
all-consuming war; memories of many a careless hour treasured now as
exquisite relics are treasured, of many a good fellow who would never
again load his pipe from Paul Mario's capacious, celebrated and
hospitable tobacco jar, as he, Don, was doing; of days of sheer indolent
joy, of nights of wild and carefree gladness.

"Good old Paul," he murmured, raising his glass. "Here's to the late Sir
Jacques. So you are out of it?"

Paul Mario nodded and took from the pocket of his threadbare golf jacket
the very twin of Don's curved and blackened briar, drawing towards him
the tobacco jar upon the table--a Mycenaean vase from the tomb of Rameses
III. A short silence fell between them.

"Frankly, I envy you," said Don suddenly, breaking the spell, "although
I realise that actually you have suffered as deeply as many