me while you are in town, Mr. Maddison?" he
asked, in a tone from which all invitation was curiously lacking.

"I think not," Mr. Maddison answered. "My stay here will be brief. I
dislike London."

Sir Allan laughed gently.

"It is the only place in the world fit to live in," he answered.

"My work and my tastes demand a quieter life," Mr. Maddison remarked.

"You will go into the country then, I suppose."

"That is my intention," was the quiet reply.

"Back to the same neighborhood."

"It is possible."

Sir Allan looked searchingly into the other's calm, expressionless face.

"I should have thought that the associations----"

Mr. Maddison was evidently not used to society. Several people said so
who saw him suddenly turn his back on that charming old gentleman, Sir
Allan Beaumerville, and leave him in the middle of a sentence. Lady
Meltoun, who happened to notice it, was quite distressed at seeing an
old friend treated in such a manner. But Sir Allan took it very nicely,
everybody said. There had been a flush in his face just for a moment,
but it soon died away. It was his own fault, he declared. He had
certainly made an unfortunate remark, and these artists and literary men
were all so sensitive. He hoped that Lady Meltoun would think no more of
it, and accordingly Lady Meltoun promised not to. But though, of course,
she and every one else who had seen it sympathized with Sir Allan, there
were one or two, with whom Sir Allan was not quite such a favorite, who
could not help remarking upon the grand air with which Mr. Maddison had
turned his back upon the baronet, and the dignity with which he had left
him.

Mr. Carlyon, who had been watching for his opportunity, buttonholed
Maddison, and led him into a corner.

"I've got you now," he said triumphantly. "My dear fellow, whatever made
you snub poor Sir Allan like that?"

"Never mind. Come and make your adieux to Lady Meltoun, and let us go. I
should not have come here."

"One moment first, Maddison," the artist said seriously. "Do you
remember those lines of yours in which a man and woman stand on a bare
hill by a clump of pines, and watch the misty moonlight cast weird
shadows upon the hillside and over the quivering sea? 'A Farewell,' you
called it, I think?"

"Yes; I remember them."

"Maddison, the woman to whom I wished to introduce you bids you to go to
her by the memory of those lines."

There was very little change in his face. It only gre