he observed the clean-shaven face, which
was sallow, or what the English once described as olivaster, the eyes
small and dark, the hair black and so long as to darkly frame the
thin-featured, clean-shaven refinement of a pleasant and now smiling
face.

John went across the hall to receive him, saying, "I am John Penhallow,
sir. I am sorry we did not know you were to be here to-day."

"It is all right--all right. Rather chilly ride. Less moisture outside
and more inside would have been agreeable; in fact, would be at present,
if I may take the liberty."

Seeing that the host did not understand him, Rivers said promptly, "I
think, John, Mr. Grey is pleasantly reminding us that we should offer him
some of your uncle's rye."

"Of course," said John, who had not had the dimmest idea what the
Maryland gentleman meant.

Mr. Grey took the whisky slowly, remarking that he knew the brand,
"Peach-flavoured, sir. Very good, does credit to Penhallow's taste. As
Mr. Clay once remarked, the mellowing years, sir, have refined it."

"Dinner is ready," said John.

There was no necessity to entertain Mr. Grey. He talked at length, what
James Penhallow later described as "grown-up prattle." Horses, the crops,
and at length the proper methods of fining wine--a word of encouragement
from Rivers set him off again. Meanwhile the dinner grew cold on his
plate. At last, abruptly conscious of the lingering meal, Mr. Grey said,
"This comes, sir, of being in too interesting society."

Was this mere quaint humour, thought Rivers; but when Grey added, "I
should have said, sir, too interested company," he began to wonder at the
self-absorption of what was evidently a provincial gentleman. At last,
with "Your very good health!" he took freely of the captain's Madeira.

Rivers, who sipped a single glass slowly, was about to rise when to his
amusement, using his uncle's phrase, John said, "My uncle thinks that
Madeira and tobacco do not go well together; you may like to smoke in the
library."

Grey remarked, "Quite right, as Henry Clay once said, 'There is nothing
as melancholy as the old age of a dinner; who, sir, shall pronounce its
epitaph?' That, sir, I call eloquence. No more wine, thank you." As he
spoke, he drew a large Cabana from his waistcoat pocket and lighted it
from one of the candles on the table.

Rivers remarked, "We will find it warmer in the library."

When the two men settled down to pipe or cigar at the library fire, Jo