ities in the study of which his life was spent. But one phrase
escaped him almost against his will.

'The first time I saw her I felt as though a new world had opened to my
ken.'

The divine music of Keats's lines rang through Arthur's remark, and to
the Frenchman's mind gave his passion a romantic note that foreboded
future tragedy. He sought to dispel the cloud which his fancy had cast
upon the most satisfactory of love affairs.

'You are very lucky, my friend. Miss Margaret admires you as much as you
adore her. She is never tired of listening to my prosy stories of your
childhood in Alexandria, and I'm quite sure that she will make you the
most admirable of wives.'

'You can't be more sure than I am,' laughed Arthur.

He looked upon himself as a happy man. He loved Margaret with all his
heart, and he was confident in her great affection for him. It was
impossible that anything should arise to disturb the pleasant life
which they had planned together. His love cast a glamour upon his
work, and his work, by contrast, made love the more entrancing.

'We're going to fix the date of our marriage now,' he said. 'I'm buying
furniture already.'

'I think only English people could have behaved so oddly as you, in
postponing your marriage without reason for two mortal years.'

'You see, Margaret was ten when I first saw her, and only seventeen when
I asked her to marry me. She thought she had reason to be grateful to me
and would have married me there and then. But I knew she hankered after
these two years in Paris, and I didn't feel it was fair to bind her to me
till she had seen at least something of the world. And she seemed hardly
ready for marriage, she was growing still.'

'Did I not say that you were a matter-of-fact young man?' smiled Dr
Porhoet.

'And it's not as if there had been any doubt about our knowing our minds.
We both cared, and we had a long time before us. We could afford to
wait.'

At that moment a man strolled past them, a big stout fellow, showily
dressed in a check suit; and he gravely took off his hat to Dr Porhoet.
The doctor smiled and returned the salute.

'Who is your fat friend?' asked Arthur.

'That is a compatriot of yours. His name is Oliver Haddo.'

'Art-student?' inquired Arthur, with the scornful tone he used when
referring to those whose walk in life was not so practical as his own.

'Not exactly. I met him a little while ago by chance. When I was getting
together the mat