the ghost of the owl, hearing the chack-chack of the machine at
intervals below me, I became aware of voices in the room
downstairs. When the chack-chack stopped, I could hear men
talking. I could hear what they said, for they were talking in
the ordinary tone of conversation. There was an open space as it
happened, all around the great pipe, where it passed through the
floor. I could peep through this into the room below, getting a
good sight of what was going on. It was very wicked of me, for
there is nothing quite so contemptible as an eavesdropper, but I
could not resist the temptation to look down. When once I had
looked down I am ashamed to say that I listened to what the men
were saying. But first of all, I put out my candle, lest anyone
looking up should se the light through the open space.

At the head of the table, there was a very handsome man, dressed
all in black, as though in mourning. His beauty was so great that
afterwards it passed into a proverb. Later in the year, when I
saw this gentleman nearly every day, I noticed that people (even
those who did not know who he was) would look after him when he
passed them. I will say only this about his handsomeness. It was
a bodily kind of beauty, of colour rather than of form; there was
not much character in it. Had he lived, I daresay he would have
become ugly like the rest of his family, none of whom, except his
great-great-grandmother, was accounted much for looks.

Next to this handsome man, on the right, sat Mr. Jermyn, looking
fifteen years younger without his false beard. Then came a very
black-looking man, with a face all eyebrows. Then a soldier in
uniform. Then a little, wiry man, who jumped about as though
excited--I could only see him when he jumped: he had an