"You have made a study of such matters."
"To some extent. My position on our local paper has sent me in that direction."
"You like your position?"
"Tolerably well. I cannot say I am wedded to it, but I must not be ungrateful."
Then the conversation drifted into channels more personal. Mr. Majoribanks launched into a recital of certain experiences in England and the Continent, and mourned the break in a career more congenial to him than that of Goldfields' Warden in Princetown, which he declared to be confoundedly dull and uninteresting. He missed his theatres, his club, his race meetings, his fashionable society, and many a sigh escaped him as he dwelt upon these fascinating themes. Then occurred a pause, and some sudden reminiscence, as yet untouched, caused him to regard his companion with more than ordinary curiosity.
"An odd idea strikes me," he said. "Have you a twin brother?"
"No," replied Basil, smiling. "What makes you ask?"
"No, of course that is not likely," said Mr. Majoribanks. "If you had a twin brother his name would not be Basil. It is singular for all that. But it is a most extraordinary likeness. A cousin of yours perhaps?"
"I haven't the slightest idea of your meaning. I have no cousins that I am aware of."
"It has only just struck me. As I looked at you a moment ago I saw the wonderful resemblance between you and a man I met in Paris. Basil is not a very common name."