suasive invitation, to the evening services.

Presently Caffyn lounged in through the hangings which protected his
bedroom door. 'Sorry you found me unready,' he said; 'I got in late
from the club somehow, but they'll bring us up some dinner presently.
Looking at that thing, eh?' he asked, as he saw Mark's eye rest on a
small high-heeled satin slipper in a glass case which stood on a
bracket near him. 'That was Kitty Bessborough's once--you remember
Kitty Bessborough, of course? She gave it to me just before she went
out on that American tour, and got killed in some big railway smash
somewhere, poor little woman! I'll tell you some day how she came to
make me a present of it. Here's Binney with the soup now.'

Mrs. Binney sent up a perfect dinner, at which her husband assisted in
a swallow-tailed coat and white tie, a concession he would not have
made for every lodger, and Caffyn played the host to perfection,
though with every course he asked himself inwardly, 'Shall I open fire
on him yet?' and still he delayed.

At last he judged that his time had come; Binney had brought up coffee
and left them alone. 'You sit down there and make yourself at home,'
said Caffyn genially, thrusting Mark down into a big saddle-bag
arm-chair ('where I can see your confounded face,' he added inwardly).
'Try one of these cigars--they're not bad; and now we can talk
comfortably. I tell you what I want to talk about,' he said presently,
and a queer smile flitted across his face; 'I want to talk about that
book of yours. Oh, I know you want to fight shy of it, but I don't
care. It isn't often I have a celebrated author to dine with me, and
if you didn't wish to hear it talked about you shouldn't have written
it, you know. I want you to tell me a few facts I can retail to people
on the best authority, don't you know; so you must just make up your
mind to conquer that modesty of yours for once, old fellow, and
gratify my impertinent curiosity.'

Mark was feeling so much at ease with himself and Caffyn that even
this proposition was not very terrible to him just then. 'All right,'
he said lazily; 'what do you want to know first?'

'That's right. Well, first, I must tell you I've read the book. I'd
like to say how much I was struck by it if I might.'

'I'm very glad you liked it,' said Mark.

'Like it?' echoed Caffyn; 'my dear fellow, I haven't been so moved by
anything for years. The thought you've crammed into that book, the
learning,