kind that lend themselves to lucidity and candor. Externally he was the
scholar, as distinct from the professional man or the "divine." His
figure--tall, large-boned, and loose-jointed--had the slight stoop
traditionally associated with study, while the profile was thrust
forward as though he were peering at something just out of sight. A
courtly touch in his style was probably a matter of inheritance, as was
also his capacity for looking suitably attired while obviously
neglectful of appearances. His thick, lank, sandy hair, fading to white,
and long, narrow, stringy beard of the same transitional hue were not
well cared for; and yet they helped to give him a little of the air of a
Titian or Velasquez nobleman. In answer to Guion now, he spoke without
lifting his eyes from his plate.

"Have I been hearing things? N-no; only that the care of big estates is
a matter of great responsibility--and anxiety."

"That's what I tell papa," Miss Guion said, warmly, catching the
concluding words. "It's a great responsibility and anxiety. He ought to
be free from it. I tell him my marriage is a providential hint to him to
give up work."

"Perhaps I sha'n't get the chance. Work may give up--me."

"I wish it would, papa. Then everything would be settled."

"Some things would be settled. Others might be opened--for discussion."

If Rodney Temple had not lifted his eyes in another significant look
toward Guion, Davenant would have let these sentences pass unheeded. As
it was, his attention was directed to possible things, or impossible