into the fog, and Mr. Wilmot, with an exaggerated sigh, shut
the front door.

"I must be going too," said Michael grudgingly.

"My dear boy, the evening has scarcely begun," objected Mr. Wilmot.
"Come upstairs to my library, and tell me all about your opinions, and
whether you do not think that everything is an affectation."

They went up together.

"Every year I redecorate this room," Mr. Wilmot explained. "Last year it
was apple-green set out with cherry-red. Now I am become a mysterious
peacock-blue, for lately I have felt terribly old. How well this
uncertain tint suits your fresh languor."

Michael admired the dusky blue chamber with the plain mirrors of
tarnished gilt, the gleaming books and exotic engravings, and the
heterogeneous finery faintly effeminate. He buried himself in a deep
embroidered chair, with an ebony box of cigarettes at his feet, while
Mr. Wilmot, after a myriad mincing preliminaries, sought out various
highly coloured bottles of liqueurs.

"This is a jolly ripping room," sighed Michael.

"It represents a year's moods," said Mr. Wilmot.

"And then will you change it?" asked Michael.

"Perhaps. The most subtly painted serpent casts ultimately its slough.
Creme-de-Menthe?"

"Yes, please," said Michael, who would have accepted anything in his
present receptive condition.

"And what do you think of life?" enquired Mr. Wilmot, taking his place
on a divan opposite Michael. "Do you mind if I smoke my Jicky-scented
hookah?" he added.

"Not at all," said Michael. "These cigarettes are jolly ripping. I think
life at school is frightfully dull--except, of course, when one goes
out. Only I don't often."

"Dull?" repeated Mr. Wilmot. "Listen to the amazing cruelty of youth,
that finds even his adventurous Sicilian existence dull."

"Well, it is," said Michael. "I think I used to like it, but nowadays
everything gets fearfully stale almost at once."

"Already your life has been lived?" queried Mr. Wilmot very anxiously.

"Well, not exactly," Michael replied, with a quick glance towards his
host to make sure he was not joking. "I expect that when I leave school
I shall get interested again. Only just lately I've given up everything.
First I was keen on Footer, and then I got keen on Ragging, and then I
got keen on Work even (this was confessed apologetically), and just
lately I've been keen on the Church--only now I find that's pretty
stale."

"The Church!" echoed Mr. Wilmot. "How wonderf