easier than to contemn the mode of life represented by this wealthy middle class; but compare it with other existences conceivable by a thinking man, and it was emphatically good.  It aimed at placidity, at benevolence, at supreme cleanliness, —­things which more than compensated for the absence of higher spirituality.  We can be but what we are; these people accepted themselves, and in so doing became estimable mortals.  No imbecile pretensions exposed them to the rebuke of a social satirist; no vulgarity tainted their familiar intercourse.  Their allegiance to a worn-out creed was felt as an added grace; thus only could their souls aspire, and the imperfect poetry of their natures be developed.

He took an opportunity of seating himself by Mrs. Warricombe, with whom as yet he had held no continuous dialogue.

‘Has there been anything of interest at the London theatres lately?’ she asked.

‘I know so little of them,’ Godwin replied, truthfully.  ’It must be several years since I saw a play.’

‘Then in that respect you have hardly become a Londoner.’

‘Nor in any other, I believe,’ said Peak, with a smile.  ’I have lived there ten years, but am far from regarding London as my home.  I hope a few months more will release me from it altogether.’

‘Indeed!—­Perhaps you think of leaving England?’

’I should be very sorry to do that—­for any length of time.  My wish is to settle somewhere in the country, and spend a year or two in quiet study.’

Mrs. Warricombe looked amiable surprise, but corrected herself to approving interest.

’I have heard some of our friends say that their minds get unstrung, if they are long away from town, but I should have thought that country quietness would be much better than London noise.  My husband certainly finds it so.’

‘People are very differently constituted,’ said Godwin.  ’And then it depends much on the nature of one’s work.’

Uttering these commonplaces with an air of reflection, he observed that they did not cost him the self-contempt which was wont to be his penalty for concession to the terms of polite gossip; rather, his mind accepted with gratitude this rare repose.  He tasted something of the tranquil self-content which makes life so enjoyable when one has never seen a necessity for shaping original remarks.  No one in this room would despise him for a platitude, were it but recommended with a pleasant smile.  With the Moxeys, with Earwaker, he durst not thus have spoken.

When the hour of separation was at hand, Buckland invited his guest to retire with him to a part of the house where they could smoke and chat comfortably.

’Moorhouse and Louis are fagged after their twenty mile stretch this morning; I have caught both of them nodding during the last few minutes.  We can send them to bed without apology.’