It is on the Middle Classes that the greatness of England depends." "Does it ?" thought Lord Buntingford irritably.

"I wonder." He rose and began to pace his library, a shabby comfortable room which he loved.

The room however had distinction like its master.

The distinction came, perhaps, from its few pictures, of no great value, but witnessing to a certain taste and knowledge on the part of the persons, long since dead, who hung them there; from one or two cases of old Nankin; from its old books; and from a faded but enchanting piece of tapestry behind the cases of china, which seemed to represent a forest.

The tapestry, which covered the whole of the end wall of the room, was faded and out of repair, but Lord Buntingford, who was a person of artistic sensibilities, was very fond of it, and had never been able to make up his mind to spare it long enough to have it sent to the School of Art Needlework for mending.