la,' instead of
'Good-night, Angela,' May I call you Angela? We seem to know each
other so well, you see."

"Yes, of course," she laughed back; "everybody I know calls me Angela,
so why shouldn't you?"

"And will you call me Arthur? Everybody I know calls me Arthur."

Angela hesitated, and Angela blushed, though why she hesitated and why
she blushed was perhaps more than she could have exactly said.

"Y-e-s, I suppose so--that is, if you like it. It is a pretty name,
Arthur. Good-night, Arthur," and she was gone.

His companion gone, Arthur turned and entered the house. The study-
door was open, so he went straight in. Philip, who was sitting and
staring in an abstracted way at the empty fireplace with a light
behind him, turned quickly round as he heard the footstep.

"Oh! it's you, is it, Heigham? I suppose Angela has gone upstairs; she
goes to roost very early. I hope that she has not bored you, and that
old Pigott hasn't talked your head off. I told you that we were an odd
lot, you know; but, if you find us odder than you bargained for, I
should advise you to clear out."

"Thank you, I have spent a very happy day."

"Indeed, I am glad to hear it. You must be easily satisfied, have an
Arcadian mind, and that sort of thing. Take some whisky, and light
your pipe."

Arthur did so, and presently Philip, in that tone of gentlemanly ease
which above everything distinguished him from his cousin, led the
conversation round to his guest's prospects and affairs, more
especially his money affairs. Arthur answered him frankly enough, but
this money talk had not the same charms for him that it had for his
host. Indeed, a marked repugnance to everything that had to do with
money was one of his characteristics; and, wearied out at length with
pecuniary details and endless researches into the mysteries of
investment, he took advantage of a pause to attempt to change the
subject.

"Well," he said, "I am much obliged to you for your advice, for I am
very ignorant myself, and hate anything to do with money. I go back to
first principles, and believe that we should all be better without
it."

"I always thought," answered Philip, with a semi-contemptuous smile,
"that the desire of money, or, amongst savage races, its equivalent,
shells or what not, was _the_ first principle of human nature."

"Perhaps it is--I really don't know; but I heartily wish that it could
be eliminated off the face of the earth."

"Forgive me," l