They shine uncommonly to-day, I never remember them so bright.
I----" At this moment a knock came on the door.

Sir Robert turned off the lamp and walked back to the fireplace.
"Come in," he said, and as he spoke once more his pale face grew impassive and expressionless.
The door opened and a clerk entered, an imposing-looking clerk with iron-grey hair, who wore an irreproachable frock coat and patent leather boots.

Advancing to his master, he stood respectfully silent, waiting to be addressed.

For quite a long while Sir Robert looked over his head as though he did not see him; it was a way of his.

Then his eyes rested on the man dreamily and he remarked in his cold, clear voice: "I don't think I rang, Jeffreys." "No, Sir Robert," answered the clerk, bowing as though he spoke to Royalty, "but there is a little matter about that article in _The Cynic_." "Press business," said Sir Robert, lifting his eyebrows; "you should know by this time that I do not attend to such details.