foreign calligraphy, and stilted English. The letter was very
complimentary.

In George's estimation Mr. Prince did not look the part of an etcher of
continental renown. He was a small, pale man, with a small brown beard,
very shabby, and he was full of small nervous gestures. He had the
innocently-red nose which pertains to indigestion. His trousers bagged
horribly at the knees, and he wore indescribable slippers. He said
little, in an extremely quiet, weak voice. His eyes, however, were
lively and attractive. He was old, probably at least thirty-five. Mr.
Buckingham Smith made a marked contrast to him. Tall, with newish
clothes, a powerful voice and decisive gestures, Mr. Buckingham Smith
dominated, though he was younger than his friend. He tried to please,
and he mingled the grand seigneurial style with the abrupt. It was he
who played both the parlourmaid and the host. He forced Marguerite to
have some brawn, serving her with a vast portion; but he could not force
her to take Pilsener.

"Now, Mr. Cannon," he said, pouring beer into a glass with an up-and-down
motion of the bottle so as to put a sparkling head on the beer.

"No, thank you," said George decidedly. "I won't have beer."

Mr. Buckingham Smith gazed at him challengingly out of his black eyes.
"Oh! But you've got to," he said. It was as if he had said: "I am
generous. I love to be hospitable, but I am not going to have my
hospitality thwarted, and you needn't think it."

George accepted the beer and joined in the toasting of Mr. Alfred
Prince's health.