involved a discussion of religion. "Larry do you remember the awful
rags we used to have over that hymn! What ages it is since you were at
home! Not since I've had my hair up!"

"By Jove, I hardly knew you when I saw you first!" responded Larry,
his sails filling on a fresh tack with characteristic speed. "It's not
as light as it used to be. I'm not sure that I like it up."

He looked at her critically. Her hair, thick and waving lay darkly on
her forehead, and was stacked in masses upon her small head on a
system known only to herself.

"That's a pity," said Christian, coolly, "and I hate it, too. But
unluckily, whether you and I hate it or not, it's got to stay up
now--that's to say, when it will. I am supposed to be 'out.' I'm
nearly eighteen, you know. I never thought I'd live to such an age."

"Oh, wait till you're 'of age,' like me!" said Larry, impressively.
"Then you'll know the horrors of longevity. I've got to take over the
show--the tenants and all the rest of it--from your father, and Aunt
Freddy, next week! An awful job it's going to be! Cousin Dick says
that these revisions of rent have played the deuce all round. I shall
make old Barty Mangan my agent. He's a solicitor now all right. He can
run the show. I like old Barty, don't you?"

"I hardly ever see him," said Christian, cautiously. "He has rather
nice looks--more like a poet than a solicitor."

"You see, I want to go abroad, and do some music, and paint," said
Larry, pressing on with his own subject. "Take painting on seriously,