it. He asked for some volumes from the library. He would read, and he
sent the faithful and adoring Brome to request Miss Clinker to send him
up the third and fourth volume of "The Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire." He often turned to Gibbon when he was at war with things. The
perfect balance of the English soothed him--and he felt he would read of
Julian, for whom in his heart he felt a sympathy.

Arabella brought the volumes herself, and placed them on his table, and
then went to settle some roses in a vase before she left the room.

A thin slip of paper fell out of one of the books as he opened it, and
he read it absently while he turned the pages.

On the top was a date in pencil, and in a methodical fashion there was
written in red ink:

"Notes for the instruction of M. E.," and then underneath, "Subjects to
be talked of at dinner to-night--Was there cause for Julian's apostasy?
What appealed most to Julian in the old religions--etc., etc."

For a second the words conveyed no meaning to his brain, and for
something to say, he said aloud to Arabella: "This is your writing, I
think, Miss Clinker. I see you have a taste for our friend Gibbon, too,"
and then, observing the troubled confusion of Arabella's honest face, a
sudden flash came over him of memory. He recollected distinctly that
upon the Sunday before his accident, they had talked at lunch of Julian
the Apostate, and Mrs. Cricklander had turned the conversation, and then
had referred to the subject again at dinner with an astonishing array of
facts, surprising him by her erudition.

He looked down at the slip again--yes, the date was right, and the
red-ink heading was evidently a stereotyped one; probably Arabella kept
a supply of these papers ready, being a methodical creature. And the
questions!--were they for her own education? But no--Arabella was a
cultivated person and would not require such things, and, on that
particular Sunday, had never opened the door of her lips at either meal.

"She prompts Cecilia," in a flash he thought, with a wild sense of
bitter mirth. "No wonder she can reel off statistics as she does.
'Subjects to be talked of at dinner'--forsooth!"

And Arabella stood there, her kind plain face crimson, and her brown
eyes blinking pitifully behind her glasses.

She was too fine to say anything, it would make the situation impossibly
difficult if she invented an explanation. So she just blinked--and
finally, after placing the f