presented themselves voluntarily. Among the earliest of these was Mr.
Keene, the journalist. He sent in his name one Sunday morning requesting
an interview on a matter of business, and on being admitted, produced
a copy of the 'Belwick Chronicle,' which contained a highly eulogistic
semi-biographic notice of Mutimer.

'I feel I ought to apologise to you for this liberty,' said Keene, in
his flowing way, 'and that is why I have brought the paper myself. You
will observe that it is one of a seris--notable men of the day. I supply
the "Chronicle" with a London letter, and give them one of these little
sketches fortnightly. I knew your modesty would stand in the way if I
consulted you in advance, so I can only beg pardon _post delictum_, as
we say.'

There stood the heading in bold type, 'MEN OF THE DAY,' and beneath it
'XI. Mr. Richard Mutimer.' Mr. Keene had likewise brought in his pocket
the placard of the newspaper, whereon Richard saw his name prominently
displayed. The journalist stayed for luncheon.

Alfred Waltham was frequently at the Manor. Mutimer now seldom went
up to town for Sunday; if necessity took him thither, he chose some
week-day. On Sunday he always spent a longer or shorter time with the
Walthams, frequently having dinner at their house. He hesitated at first
to invite the ladies to the Manor; in his uncertainty on social usages
he feared lest there might be impropriety in a bachelor giving such an
invitation. He appealed to Alfred, who naturally laughed the scruple to
scorn, and accordingly Mrs. and Miss Waltham were begged to honour
Mr. Mutimer with their company. Mrs. Waltham reflected a little, but
accepted. Adela would much rather have remained at home, but she had no
choice.

By the end of September this invitation had been repeated, and the
Walthams had lunched a second time at the Manor, no other guests being
present. On the afternoon of the following day Mrs. Waltham and her
daughter were talking together in their sitting-room, and the former led
the conversation, as of late she almost invariably did when alone with
her daughter, to their revolutionary friend.

'I can't help thinking, Adela, that in all essentials I never knew a
more gentlemanly man than Mr. Mutimer. There must be something superior
in his family; no doubt we were altogether mistaken in speaking of him
as a mechanic.'

'But he has told us himself that he was a mechanic,' replied Adela, in
the impatient way in which she