various positions of the most exacting body; a teeming book-case, a music canterbury filled with music, and other useful articles of furniture. There were some charming pictures upon the wall and, in a word, the apartment was evidently that of a man of refinement. Bitterly, I acknowledged that fact to myself, and thus began a little logical process of reasoning which rendered me all the more miserable. Arthur was a man of refinement—he must be; there could be no use denying it; he appreciated what was refined, and despised the vulgar and the common—his room showed that. He did not appreciate me—therefore I could not be refined; he despised me—therefore I was vulgar and common. The fallacy of this reasoning is of course very evident, but it was not evident to me at that time. Can you wonder at it?
I had sunk into this reading chair, and was evidently forgetting the real object of my intrusion. I had not come here to meditate. Heaven knows, I had ample time and opportunities for that pastime elsewhere.
I pushed back the plush portières, and stood in
