too, was the journalist’s discretion in regard to all doings down at Wanley.  Knowing he had several times visited the Manor, Alice often sought information from him about her brother’s way of life.  Mr. Keene always replied with generalities.  He was a man of humour in his way, and Alice came to regard him with amusement.  Then his extreme respect flattered her; insensibly she took him for her criterion of gentility in men.  He supplied her with ‘society’ journals, and now and then suggested the new novel that it behoved her to read.  Richard had even withdrawn his opposition to the theatre-going; about once in three weeks Mr. Keene presented himself with tickets, and Alice, accompanied by her brother, accepted his invitation.

He called this Monday evening.  Mrs. Mutimer, after spending a day of fretful misery, had gone to Wilton Square; ’Arry was away at his classes.  Alice was packing certain articles she had purchased in the afternoon, and had just delighted her soul with the inspection of a travelling cloak, also bought to-day.  When the visitor was announced, she threw the garment over her shoulders and appeared in it.

‘Does this look nice, do you think?’ she asked, after shaking hands as joyously as her mood dictated.

’About as nice as a perfect thing always does when it’s worn by a perfect woman,’ Mr. Keene replied, drawing back and inclining his body at what he deemed a graceful angle.

‘Oh, come, that’s too much!’ laughed Alice.

’Not a bit, Miss Mutimer.  I suppose you travel in it tomorrow morning?’

‘How did you know that?’

’I have heard from your brother to-day.  I thought I might perhaps have the great pleasure of doing you some slight service either to-night or in the morning.  You will allow me to attend you to the station?’

‘I really don’t think there’s any need to trouble you,’ Alice replied.  These respectful phrases always stirred her pleasurably:  in listening to them she bore herself with dignity, and endeavoured to make answer in becoming diction.

’Trouble?  What other object have I in life but to serve you?  I’ll put it in another way:  you won’t refuse me the pleasure of being near you for a few minutes?’

’I’m sure you’re very kind.  I know very well it’s taking you out of your way, but it isn’t likely I shall refuse to let you come.’

Mr. Keene bowed low in silence.

‘Have you brought me that paper?’ Alice asked, seating herself with careful arrangement of her dress.  ’The Christmas number with the ghost story you spoke of, you know?’

In the course of a varied life Mr. Keene had for some few months trodden the boards of provincial theatres; an occasional turn of his speech, and still more his favourite gestures, bore evidence to that period of his career.  Instead of making direct reply to Alice’s question, he stood for a moment as if dazed; then flinging back his body, smote his forehead with a ringing slap, and groaned ’0 Heaven!’