himself.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "she thinks that absolute simplicity suits her
best. She has a nice figure."

Selina tossed her much-beaded slipper impatiently.

"Heaven only knows what Mary does think," she exclaimed, impatiently.

"And Heaven only knows what I am to say about these," Brooks groaned
inwardly, as the sketch-book fell open before him at last, and its
contents were revealed to his astonished eyes.

CHAPTER III

KINGSTON BROOKS HAS A VISITOR

Kingston Brooks was twenty-five years old, strong, nervous, and with a
strenuous desire to make his way so far as was humanly possible into the
heart of life. He was a young solicitor recently established in
Medchester, without friends save those he was now making, and absolutely
without interest of any sort. He had a small capital, and already the
beginnings of a practice. He had some sort of a reputation as a
speaker, and was well spoken of by those who had entrusted business to
him. Yet he was still fighting for a living when this piece of luck had
befallen him. Mr. Bullsom had entrusted a small case to him, and found
him capable and cheap. Amongst that worthy gentleman's chief
characteristics was a decided weakness for patronizing younger and less
successful men, and he went everywhere with Kingston Brooks' name on his
lips. Then came the election, and the sudden illness of Mr. Morrison,
who had always acted as agent for the Radical candidates for the
borough. Another agent had to be found. Several who would have been
suitable were unavailable. An urgent committee meeting was held, and
Mr. Bullsom at once called attention to an excellent little speech of
Kingston Brooks' at a ward meeting on the previous night. In an hour he
was closeted with the young lawyer, and the affair was settled. Brooks
knew that henceforth the material side of his career would be
comparatively easy sailing.

He had accepted his good fortune with something of the same cheerful
philosophy with which he had seen difficulty loom up in his path a few
months ago. But to-night, on his way home from Mr. Bullsom's suburban
residence, a different mood possessed him. Usually a self-contained and
somewhat gravely minded person, to-night the blood went tingling through
his veins with a new and unaccustomed warmth. He carried himself
blithely, the cool night air was so grateful and sweet to him that he
had no mind even to smoke. There seemed to be no tangible reason for
the change. Th