nt of view of the old Greeks--they were so full of
common sense. Balance and harmony in everything was their aim. A
beautiful body, for instance, should be the correlative of a beautiful
soul. Therefore in general their athletics were not pursued, as are
ours, for mere pleasure and sport, and because we like to feel fit. They
did not systematically exercise just to wrest from some rival the prize
in the games, either. Their care of the body had a far higher and nobler
end: to bring it into harmony as a dwelling-place for a noble soul."

"How divine!" said Mrs. Cricklander.

John Derringham went on:

"You remember Plato upon the subject--his reluctance to admit that a
physical defect must sometimes be overlooked. But nowadays everything is
distorted by ridiculous humanitarian nonsense. With our wonderful
inventions, our increasing knowledge of sanitation and science, and the
possibilities and limitations of the human body, what glorious people we
should become if we could choke this double-headed hydra of rotten
sentiment and exalt common sense!"

But now Mrs. Cricklander saw that a storm was gathering upon Mr.
Hanbury-Green's brow and, admirable hostess that she was, she decided to
smooth the troubled waters, so she went across the room to the piano,
and began to play a seductive valse, while John Derringham followed her
and leaned upon the lid, and tried to feel as devoted as he looked.

"Why cannot we go to-morrow and see your old master?" she asked, as her
white fingers, with their one or two superb rings, glided over the keys.
"I feel an unaccountable desire to become acquainted with him. I should
love to see what the person was like who molded you when you were a
boy."

"Mr. Carlyon is a wonderful-looking old man," John Derringham returned.
"Someone--who knows him very well--described him long ago as 'Cheiron.'
You will see how apt it is when you meet."

Mrs. Cricklander crashed some chords. She had never heard of this
Cheiron. She felt vaguely that Arabella had told her of some classical
or mythological personage of some such sounding name, a boatman of
sorts--but she dare not risk a statement, so she went on with the point
she wished to gain, which was to investigate at once Mr. Carlyon's
surroundings and discover, if possible, whether there was any influence
there that would be inimical to herself.

"I dare say we can go to-morrow," John Derringham said. "You and I might
walk over--and perhaps Miss Lutw