"Our dear Sandy puts it so charmingly! To be a myth seems original,--to be a mere man, quite ordinary.

I believe it is possible to find some good scientific professor who would prove me to be a myth--the moving shadow of a dream--imagine!--how perfectly poetical!" "You talk too much to be a dream, my boy," laughed Errington, and turning to Mr.Dyceworthy, he added, "I'm afraid you must think us a shocking set.

We are really none of us very religious, I fear, though," and he tried to look serious; "if it had not been for Mr.Lorimer, we should have come to church last Sunday.

Mr.Lorimer was, unfortunately, rather indisposed." "Ya-as!" drawled that gentleman, turning from the little window where he had been gathering a rose for his button-hole.

"I was knocked up; had fits, and all that sort of thing; took these three fellows all their time on Sunday to hold me down!" "Dear me!" and Mr.Dyceworthy was about to make further inquiries concerning Mr.Lorimer's present state of health, when the door opened, and Ulrika entered, bearing a large tray laden with wine and other refreshments.