'There are always a few charitable souls who drop in upon me of a Sunday afternoon, but I'd no idea you would be the first of them to-day.'

Here was a disturbing announcement for me!

'Perhaps it would be more convenient if I came one evening, Mr. Rawlence,' I said awkwardly, half rising from the chair.

'Tut, tut, my dear lad! Sit down, sit down. Why should other visitors disturb you? There will only be good fellows like yourself. Ladies are rarities here on a Sunday. And in any case-- Why, you are quite the man of the world now.' This with kindly admiration. Then he screwed up his eyes, moved his head backward and from side to side, as though to correct his view of a picture. 'Just one point out of the picture. Dare I alter it? May I?' And, stepping forward, he thrust well down in my breast coat pocket Mrs. Gabbitas's gorgeous silk handkerchief. 'Yes,' as he moved backward again, 'that's better. One never can see these things for oneself. But let me make sure of your important news before we are interrupted.'

So I told my story as well as I could, and Mr. Rawlence was in the act of expressing his kindly interest therein, when I heard steps and voices on the stairs below.

'If you're not otherwise engaged you must stay till these fellows go, Nick,' said my host. 'We haven't half finished our talk, you know. And--er--if you should be talking to any one here of--er--your present situation, I should leave it quite vague, if I were you; secretarial work you know--something of that sort. We may have some newspaper men here who might be useful to you one day--you follow me?'

'Ah! Hail! Good of you to have come, Landon. Ah, Foster! Jones! Good men! Do find seats. Oh, let me introduce a new arrival--Mr. Nicholas Freydon; Mr. Landon, the disgracefully well-known painter, Mr. Foster and Mr. Jones, both of the Fourth Estate, though frequently taken for quite respectable members of society. We may not have a Fleet Street here, you know, Freydon, but we have one or two rather decent newspapers, as you may have noticed.'

He turned to the still smiling young Chinaman. 'Let's have cigars and cigarettes, Ah Lun.'

I gathered that I had been presented as a new arrival from England. It was rather startling; but so far I found that an occasional smile was all that seemed expected of me, and I was of course anxious to do my best. 'Good thing I've started smoking,' I thought, as Ah Lun began passing round two massive silver boxes, with cigars and cigarettes. The visitors were mostly young, rather noticeably young, I thought, in view of the greying hair over Mr. Rawlence's temples; and I felt less and less alarmed as I listened to their talk. In fact, shamelessly disrespectful though the idea was, I found myself, after a while, wondering whether Mr. Smith might not have called some of the conversation 'cackle.' And then some technicalities, journalistic and artistic, began to star the talk, and I meekly rebuked my own presumption. But I have no doubt whatever that Mr. Smith would have called most of it 'cackle,' and it is possible he would have been tolerably near the truth.

Within an hour I had been introduced to perhaps a score of visitors, and Ah Lun was just as busy as he could be, serving tea, whisky, wine, soda-water, cigars, cigarettes, sandwiches, and so forth. It was all tremendously exciting to me. The mere sound of so many voices, apart from anything else, I found wonderfully stimulating, if a trifle bewildering.