hose
men at Colenso, for instance,--I grant you it _was_ a fine thing to do,
to stand at attention while awaiting death. But I believe if such a
thing ever could have been inquired into with the minuteness that the
Psychic Research Society brings to bear upon the problems that confront
it, it would have been found that something far back in the minds of one
or more of the three, some fine deed in a book, some shining act
witnessed on a stage, gave the cue for the act at which the civilized
world thundered applause."

"It's a pretty notion," said Hugh, "and a kind one to a writer sunk in
a slough of despond. But I hae ma doots."

"I haven't," said Kate stoutly. "In point of fact I truly believe that
one half of our actions--especially our better ones--spring from an
unconscious desire to be like or unlike some character of some book or
play. Where a sincere Christian struggles desperately to live like
Christ of the Great Book, the less courageous aim lower and substitute a
panorama of book characters that shift with their stages of growth. Many
a meanness of life is left uncommitted, not solely because it is a
meanness but because it would look execrable in the pages of a novel.
Why, only for being terrorized by the Old Maid of Fiction, I'd be
keeping a cat and a parrot myself by this time, Hugh Kinross, and you
know it."

"And what should I be doing?" asked Hugh, amused.

Kate cogitated for a moment.

"You would have been an Egoist, only Meredith made you ashamed to be
one," she answered.

Hugh nodded approval at her hit.

"But I'm still a posturing, narrow-living ass, ain't I?" he said, "like
the rest of the writing tribe."

"Oh," said Kate comfortably, "of course one hates an author that's all
author--how does it go? fellows in foolscap uniforms turned up with
ink? But you're not that sort, Hughie. I will say for you that when you
haven't the pen in your hand you are just plain man."

"Thanks, old girl," said Hugh, grateful for a moment. But then he soon
drooped again.

"No, no, the trail of the serpent is over the artistic temperament, Kit.
Look at me,--if I get into a company where I'm pointed out, _monstrari
digito_, as Hugh Kinross, I'm bored--and no doubt show that I am."

"Yes, I've often noticed that," said Kate, who had long secretly
considered this rather a noble trait in her brother's character.

"Yes," said Hugh pensively, "and then when I get into a company where no
one knows me from Smith