His soft brown eyes wandered about the room with a melting tenderness; his hair was beautifully brushed; his delicate hands hung over the arms of his chair with a languid grace.

He looked like a convalescent Apollo.

Never, on any previous occasion, had he practiced more successfully the social art which he habitually cultivated--the art of casting himself on society in the character of a well-bred Incubus, and conferring an obligation on his fellow-creatures by allowing them to sit under him.

It was undeniably a dull evening.

All the talking fell to the share of Mr.Vanstone and Miss Garth.