vated the habit of reticence.
Thrown by his profession among men of shrewd wit but imperfect delicacy
of mind, he has kept himself to himself. In the course of years it has
been almost necessary for him to speak. I can imagine him, a man of
quick perceptions, and no mean gift of expression, finding silence
becoming an agony. Much brooding has bitten the real and fanciful
details of his life into his mind. He has, quite by accident, discovered
in us a singularly acceptable audience. Without conscious premeditation
he has told us his story. Every narrator of the most trivial incident
can induce you to listen for something naive and individual in his
utterance. Most of us disperse this quality over our days. Mr. Carville
has secreted it, distilled it to a quintessence, and the result
is--well, something in his tone and manner quite unusual."

"Yes, that's all right enough," assented Mac, "but I still don't quite
see how his brother couples-up with that chap Cecil wrote about."

"Well, I don't either," I replied, "but you must remember that Mr.
Carville has told us so far only of the past. In his narrative he is not
married. That must be at least eight years ago, a long time in the life
of a man like his brother."

"I'll write to Cecil," said Bill suddenly, with one of her flashes.
"Wouldn't that be a good plan?"

"Excellent!" I exclaimed. "We ought to have thought of that before. He
will be tremendously interested."

This was a true prophecy. Some three weeks later, on a day in the middle
of November, we received a bulky letter with a Wigborough postmark on a
two-cent stamp. The excess, I recall, was nine cents, gladly paid by me
while Bill was tearing off the end of the envelope.

"Yes," she said, scanning the sheets quickly, "it seems to be.
Here----"

We adjourned to the studio. Mac seated himself before a half-finished
cover for the Christmas Number of _Payne's Monthly_, Bill took up a
leather collar-bag destined to be Cecil's Yule-tide present, and I began
to read.

"High Wigborough, Essex.

"MY DEAR BILL,--Many thanks for your jolly letter. I write at once
to tell you how awfully interested I am in what you tell me. It
really is a most extraordinary thing, though, as you know, it often
happens. On the very day your letter arrived I met Carville again!
Without any warning I heard the chuff-chuff of a motor in the lane,
and saw him walking