Sir Allan laughed gently.
"It is the only place in the world fit to live in," he answered.
"My work and my tastes demand a quieter life," Mr. Maddison remarked.
"You will go into the country then, I suppose."
"That is my intention," was the quiet reply.
"Back to the same neighborhood."
"It is possible."
Sir Allan looked searchingly into the other's calm, expressionless face.
"I should have thought that the associations——"
Mr. Maddison was evidently not used to society. Several people said so who saw him suddenly turn his back on that charming old gentleman, Sir Allan Beaumerville, and leave him in the middle of a sentence. Lady Meltoun, who happened to notice it, was quite distressed at seeing an old friend treated in such a manner. But Sir Allan took it very nicely, everybody said. There had been a flush in his face just for a moment, but it soon died away. It was his own fault, he declared. He had certainly made an unfortunate remark, and these artists and literary men were all so sensitive. He hoped that Lady Meltoun would think no more of it, and accordingly Lady Meltoun promised not to. But though, of course, she and every one else who had seen it sympathized with Sir Allan, there were one or two, with whom Sir Allan was not quite such a favorite, who could not help remarking upon the grand air with which Mr. Maddison had turned his back upon the baronet, and the dignity with which he had left him.