ople. His friendship for Miss Bretherton gave her a certain stamp in
Kendal's eyes, for Wallace had a fastidious taste in personalities and
seldom made a mistake.

Kendal himself walked home, busy with very different thoughts, and was
soon established at his writing-table in his high chambers overlooking an
inner court of the Temple. It was a bright afternoon; the spring sunshine
on the red roofs opposite was clear and gay; the old chimney-stacks,
towering into the pale blue sky, threw sharp shadows on the rich red and
orange surface of the tiles. Below, the court was half in shadow, and
utterly quiet and deserted. To the left there was a gleam of green,
atoning for its spring thinness and scantiness by a vivid energy of
colour; while straight across the court, beyond the rich patchwork of the
roofs and the picturesque outlines of the chimneys, a delicate piece of
white stone-work rose into air--the spire of one of Wren's churches, as
dainty, as perfect, and as fastidiously balanced as the hand of man could
leave it.

Inside, the room was such as fitted a studious bachelor of means. The
book-cases on the walls held old college classics and law-books
underneath, and above a miscellaneous literary library, of which the
main bulk was French, while the side-wings, so to speak, had that
tempting miscellaneous air--here a patch of German, there an island
of Italian; on this side rows of English poets, on the other an
abundance of novels of all languages--which delights the fond heart of
the book-lover. The pictures were mostly autotypes and photographs from
subjects of Italian art, except in one corner, where a fine little
collection of French historical engravings completely covered the wall,
and drew a visitor's attention by the brilliancy of their black and
white. On the writing-table were piles of paper-covered French books,
representing for the most part the palmy days of the Romantics, though
every here and there were intervening strata of naturalism, balanced in
their turn by recurrent volumes of Sainte-Beuve. The whole had a studious
air. The books were evidently collected with a purpose, and the piles of
orderly MSS. lying on the writing-table seemed to sum up and explain
their surroundings.

The only personal ornament of the room was a group of photographs on the
mantelpiece. Two were faded and brown, and represented Kendal's parents,
both of whom had been dead some years. The other was a large cabinet
photograph