lighted in the fireplace. Through the deepening dusk, the
firelight flickered upon the pipes and curious weapons on the wall and
threw an orange glow over the Turkish hangings. One side of the smoking
room was entirely of glass, separating it from the conservatory, which
was flooded with white light from the electric bulbs. There was about
the darkened room some suggestion of certain chambers in the Arabian
Nights, opening on a court of palms. Perhaps it was partially this
memory-evoking suggestion that caused Imogen to start so violently when
she saw dimly, in a blur of shadow, the figure of a man, who sat smoking
in a low, deep chair before the fire. He was long, and thin, and brown.
His long, nerveless hands drooped from the arms of his chair. A brown
mustache shaded his mouth, and his eyes were sleepy and apathetic. When
Imogen entered he rose indolently and gave her his hand, his manner
barely courteous.

"I am glad you arrived promptly, Miss Willard," he said with an
indifferent drawl. "Flavia was afraid you might be late. You had a
pleasant ride up, I hope?"

"Oh, very, thank you, Mr. Hamilton," she replied, feeling that he did
not particularly care whether she replied at all.

Flavia explained that she had not yet had time to dress for dinner,
as she had been attending to Mr. Will Maidenwood, who had become faint
after hurting his finger in an obdurate window, and immediately excused
herself As she left, Hamilton turned to Miss Broadwood with a rather
spiritless smile.

"Well, Jimmy," he remarked, "I brought up a piano box full of fireworks
for the boys. How do you suppose we'll manage to keep them until the
Fourth?"

"We can't, unless we steel ourselves to deny there are any on the
premises," said Miss Broadwood, seating herself on a low stool by
Hamilton's chair and leaning back against the mantel. "Have you seen
Helen, and has she told you the tragedy of the tooth?"

"She met me at the station, with her tooth wrapped up in tissue paper.
I had tea with her an hour ago. Better sit down, Miss Willard;" he rose
and pushed a chair toward Imogen, who was standing peering into the
conservatory. "We are scheduled to dine at seven, but they seldom get
around before eight."

By this time Imogen had made out that here the plural pronoun, third
person, always referred to the artists. As Hamilton's manner did not
spur one to cordial intercourse, and as his attention seemed directed
to Miss Broadwood, insofar as i