After the rather gorgeous cadenza of Brownwell's greeting had died away and Barclay had his man in a chair, Barclay opened the stove door and let the glow of the flames fight the shadows in the room.
"Well," said Barclay, turning toward his visitor brusquely, "why won't you renew that accommodation paper for me again ?" The Papins and the Dulangpres shrugged their shoulders and waved their hands through Brownwell rather nastily as he answered, "Circumstances, Mr.Barclay, circumstances!" "You're not getting along fast enough, eh ?" retorted Barclay.
"Yes--and no," returned Brownwell.
"What do you mean ?" asked Barclay, half divining the truth.
"Well--it is after all our own affair--but since you are a friend I will say this: three times a week--sometimes four times a week I go out to pay my respects.

Until November I stayed until nine, at Christmas we put on another hour; now it is ten-thirty.

I am a man, John Barclay--as you see.

She--she is an angel.

Very good.