"He is a night bird, Harry--" said Mrs.
Burton.

She had fallen into the way of calling him Harry at once, but he could not on that occasion bring himself to call her Cecilia.

He might have done so had not her husband been present, but he was ashamed to do it before him.

"He is a night bird, Harry," said she, speaking of her brother, "and flies away at nine o'clock that he may go and hoot like an owl in some dark city haunt that he has.

Then, when he is himself asleep at breakfast time, his hootings are being heard round the town." Harry rather liked the idea of knowing an editor.