HALIDOME.
Shelton had nothing better to do, for pleasant were his friend Halidome's well-appointed dinners.

At seven, therefore, he went to Chester Square.

His friend was in his study, reading Matthew Arnold by the light of an electric lamp.

The walls of the room were hung with costly etchings, arranged with solid and unfailing taste; from the carving of the mantel-piece to the binding of the books, from the miraculously-coloured meerschaums to the chased fire-irons, everything displayed an unpretentious luxury, an order and a finish significant of life completely under rule of thumb.

Everything had been collected.
The collector rose as Shelton entered, a fine figure of a man, clean shaven,--with dark hair, a Roman nose, good eyes, and the rather weighty dignity of attitude which comes from the assurance that one is in the right.
Taking Shelton by the lapel, he drew him into the radius of the lamp, where he examined him, smiling a slow smile.