y, stale smoking-room; he remained speechless, and that struck
me as like him. I had to speak first, he could not even relieve me by
saying 'Is anything the matter?' I told him first that she was ill. It
was an odious moment.

THE LIAR

I

The train was half an hour late and the drive from the station longer
than he had supposed, so that when he reached the house its inmates had
dispersed to dress for dinner and he was conducted straight to his room.
The curtains were drawn in this asylum, the candles were lighted, the
fire was bright, and when the servant had quickly put out his clothes
the comfortable little place became suggestive--seemed to promise a
pleasant house, a various party, talks, acquaintances, affinities, to
say nothing of very good cheer. He was too occupied with his profession
to pay many country visits, but he had heard people who had more time
for them speak of establishments where 'they do you very well.' He
foresaw that the proprietors of Stayes would do him very well. In his
bedroom at a country house he always looked first at the books on the
shelf and the prints on the walls; he considered that these things gave
a sort of measure of the culture and even of the character of his hosts.
Though he had but little time to devote to them on this occasion a
cursory inspection assured him that if the literature, as usual, was
mainly American and humorous the art consisted neither of the
water-colour studies of the children nor of 'goody' engravings. The
walls were adorned with old-fashioned lithographs, principally portraits
of country gentlemen with high collars and riding gloves: this
suggested--and it was encouraging--that the tradition of portraiture was
held in esteem. There was the customary novel of Mr. Le Fanu, for the
bedside; the ideal reading in a country house for the hours after
midnight. Oliver Lyon could scarcely forbear beginning it while he
buttoned his shirt.

Perhaps that is why he not only found every one assembled in the hall
when he went down, but perceived from the way the move to dinner was
instantly made that they had been waiting for him. There was no delay,
to introduce him to a lady, for he went out in a group of unmatched men,
without this appendage. The men, straggling behind, sidled and edged as
usual at the door of the dining-room, and the _denouement_ of this
little comedy was that he came to his place last of all. This made him
think that he was in a su