harles the Fifth pick up Titian's brush for him. Do you
mind putting this tray of coins back in the cabinet, and giving me the
next one to it? In the wretched state of my nerves, exertion of any
kind is unspeakably disagreeable to me. Yes. Thank you."

As a practical commentary on the liberal social theory which he had
just favoured me by illustrating, Mr. Fairlie's cool request rather
amused me. I put back one drawer and gave him the other, with all
possible politeness. He began trifling with the new set of coins and
the little brushes immediately; languidly looking at them and admiring
them all the time he was speaking to me.

"A thousand thanks and a thousand excuses. Do you like coins? Yes. So
glad we have another taste in common besides our taste for Art. Now,
about the pecuniary arrangements between us--do tell me--are they
satisfactory?"

"Most satisfactory, Mr. Fairlie."

"So glad. And--what next? Ah! I remember. Yes. In reference to the
consideration which you are good enough to accept for giving me the
benefit of your accomplishments in art, my steward will wait on you at
the end of the first week, to ascertain your wishes. And--what next?
Curious, is it not? I had a great deal more to say: and I appear to
have quite forgotten it. Do you mind touching the bell? In that
corner. Yes. Thank you."

I rang; and a new servant noiselessly made his appearance--a foreigner,
with a set smile and perfectly brushed hair--a valet every inch of him.

"Louis," said Mr. Fairlie, dreamily dusting the tips of his fingers
with one of the tiny brushes for the coins, "I made some entries in my
tablettes this morning. Find my tablettes. A thousand pardons, Mr.
Hartright, I'm afraid I bore you."

As he wearily closed his eyes again, before I could answer, and as he
did most assuredly bore me, I sat silent, and looked up at the Madonna
and Child by Raphael. In the meantime, the valet left the room, and
returned shortly with a little ivory book. Mr. Fairlie, after first
relieving himself by a gentle sigh, let the book drop open with one
hand, and held up the tiny brush with the other, as a sign to the
servant to wait for further orders.

"Yes. Just so!" said Mr. Fairlie, consulting the tablettes. "Louis,
take down that portfolio." He pointed, as he spoke, to several
portfolios placed near the window, on mahogany stands. "No. Not the
one with the green back--that contains my Rembrandt etchings, Mr.
Hartri