returned the other. "Where have you been?"

"Down with Warren near Dulminster. Deathly dull hole."

"Do for your next novel. Eh?" said the other with a laugh.

Mark Shrewsbury smiled good-naturedly.

"Talking of novels," he observed, with another yawn, "I heard such a
story down there!"

"Did you? Let's hear it. A nice little scandal would do instead of
a pick-me-up."

"It's not a scandal. Don't raise your expectations. It's the story
of a successful scoundrel."

And then I came out again in full vigour--nay, with vastly increased
powers; for though Mark Shrewsbury did not add very much to me, or
alter my appearance, yet his graphic words made me much more
impressive than I had been under the management of Mrs. Selldon.

"H'm! that's a queer story," said the limp-looking young man from
Switzerland. "I say, have a game of billiards, will you?"

Shrewsbury, with prodigious yawn, dragged himself up out of his
chair, and the two went off together. As they left the room the
only other man present looked up from his newspaper, following them
with his eyes.