cted Escott.

And indeed in the outside world he might safely have been termed rather
rum, but here in this backwater, so full of the oddest flotsam, his
waywardness was rather less than the average. He had, for instance, a
diverting habit of modifying the time, and even the tune, of the hymns on
Sunday, and he confessed to having kissed all the nurses and housemaids
except three. But both Escott and Sherlaw declared they had never met a
more congenial spirit. Mr Beveridge's game of billiards was quite
remarkable even for Clankwood, where the enforced leisure of many of the
noblemen and gentlemen had made them highly proficient on the spot; he
showed every promise, on his rare opportunities, of being an unusually
entertaining small hour, whisky-and-soda _raconteur_; in fact, he was
evidently a man whose previous career, whatever it might have been (and
his own statements merely served to increase the mystery round this
point), had led him through many humorous by-paths, and left him with few
restrictive prejudices.

November became December, and to all appearances he had settled down in
his new residence with complete resignation, when that unknowable factor
that upsets so many calculations came upon the scene,--the factor, I mean,
that wears a petticoat.

Mr Beveridge strolled into Escott's room one morning to find the doctor
inspecting a mixed assortment of white kid gloves.

"Do these mean past or future conquests?" he asked with his smile.

"Both," laughed the doctor. "I'm trying to pick out a clean pair for the
dance to-night."

"You go a-dancing, then?"

"Don't you know it's our own monthly ball here?"

"Of course," said Mr Beveridge, passing his hand quickly across his brow.
"I must have heard, but things pass so quickly through my head nowadays."

He laughed a little conventional laugh, and gazed at the gloves.

"You are coming, of course?" said Escott.

"If you can lend me a pair of these. Can you spare one?"

"Help yourself," replied the doctor.

Mr Beveridge selected a pair with the care of a man who is particular in
such matters, put them in his pocket, thanked the doctor, and went out.

"Hope he doesn't play the fool," thought Escott.

Invitations to the balls at Clankwood were naturally in great demand
throughout the county, for nowhere were noblemen so numerous and
divinities so tangible. Carriages and pairs rolled up one after another,
the mansion glittered with lights, the strains of th