society man."

The Editor exclaimed at so much modesty. Didn't his friend know
that he was their one and only explorer--that he was the man
experimenting with the silk plant. . . .

"Still, that doesn't tell me why I was invited yesterday. For
young Dunster never thought of this civility before. . . ."

"Our Willie," said the popular journalist, "never does anything
without a purpose, that's a fact."

"And to his uncle's house too!"

"He lives there."

"Yes. But he might have given me a feed somewhere else. The
extraordinary part is that the old man did not seem to have
anything special to say. He smiled kindly on me once or twice, and
that was all. It was quite a party, sixteen people."

The Editor then, after expressing his regret that he had not been
able to come, wanted to know if the party had been entertaining.

Renouard regretted that his friend had not been there. Being a man
whose business or at least whose profession was to know everything
that went on in this part of the globe, he could probably have told
him something of some people lately arrived from home, who were
amongst the guests. Young Dunster (Willie), with his large shirt-
front and streaks of white skin shining unpleasantly through the